Dreams of Chivalry
by TheFirstOfThisName
Summary: An AU following the execution of Eddard Stark. Robb believes both Stark sisters to be held in King's Landing, and the Northern Knight Ser Corlen Austriman is called to rescue them from the claws of his Lannister foes. Sansa/OC in chapters to come. WIP!
1. Prologue

Prologue:

_In the darkness outside of the Tully fortress of Riverrun, two figures meet. One, red of hair and bearing an appearance similar to that of his mother's namesake, is crowned with a circlet of copper and iron- the crown of the King in the North. The other is swathed in a heavy cloak and a set of thick, black robes. The stranger towers over Robb Stark, bearing a bastard sword at his left hip, and a slightly smaller war-axe at the other. The two are deep in conversation…_

"You understand how crucial the success of your task is, yes, Ser?"

The enormous shadow nods, the rumbling bass of his voice answering, "Aye, Your Grace. I will not fail you."

Robb Stark nods slowly. "I certainly should think not. You and your…skills…come to me with the highest recommendation. But this shall, be no means, be a simple errand. I am asking you to infiltrate the seat of my enemies' power. You may easily die in the course of your quest." He pauses, eyeing the knight appraisingly. "I might be slain prior to the completion of your mission. There is a war on, after all." He looks directs his gaze to the west. There, an enormous tent city has sprouted, where the campfires of the Lannister host seem like a swarm of fireflies.

"Your Grace. I have accepted your charge, and I will see it through to the end. To whatever end it may be."

Robb sets his jaw. "So be it." He clears his throat. "Ser Corlen Austriman of White Harbor, I would ask that you travel to King's Landing, and free my sisters from the clutches of the false king...at whatever cost, Ser. Whatever cost.

"And…Ser Corlen…" His voice chokes off slightly.

Ser Corlen's gaze transfixes him from beneath his hood. "Aye, Your Grace?"

"Claim justice for my father. Take that bastard Joffrey Waters' head."

Ser Corlen smashes one clenched fist over his heart, and bows deeply from the waist. "It will be done."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Seeing her father's head severed by his own sword did not sit well with Sansa Stark.

After having begged Joffrey, her Prince, her _love_ for her father's life, Sansa realized her fantasies of valorous knights and sighing maidens whom the brave, handsome warrior would go to any length to protect were just as foolish as tales of grumpkins and snarks.

And so, she wept. She wept for father, and for Jory, and for Vayon Poole, and for Septa Mordrane, and even for Arya (who had ruined her pretty dress). She wept for them all, lost to her, nearly so much as her dreams, slain along with her love for her golden prince. She wept all through the night and into the wee hours of the morning, until exhaustion and grief brought her sleep, but in her slumber there was no respite from the horror. She was assailed by dreams of bloody Stark guardsmen roaming the halls of the Red Keep, all staring, and asking why she lived, when they had not, as well as images of her father, standing above his own decapitated head, asking her too why, why she had betrayed her House, her family, by loving those monsters the Lannisters.

When morning finally came, she was confronted with the terror anew. _I no longer have a father. I am alone. _This she thought, and brought new tears to her eyes.

Red-eyed and looking quite a disaster, she could do naught but sniffle as Cersei Lannister, Queen Regent of the realm, entered her chambers. She sat consolingly by her side, reminding her that her father was of course a traitor, and that the King, while harsh, had dealt out justice. Sansa only half-heard these things, so lost in her misery, that when the Queen announced that her engagement to Joffrey had been annulled by the High Septon, and that a "more fitting" match for the spawn of a traitor would be made by the Crown on her behalf, she barely registered this beyond her near instinctual courtesies. Cersei, after a few more moments of silence, departed as quickly as she had come, leaving Sansa alone to wallow once more.

Nearly two weeks passed, the servants bringing her food and drink in the morning, at midday and again when darkness fell, but Sansa could do nothing to drag herself from this pit of despair that had swallowed her. Finally, on one dark, gloomy morning, Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard came to her.

"My lady, His Grace has asked that you be brought before him. He would have you attend him in court today."

Sansa glanced up at him, and nodded, rising and offering a graceful curtsy. "Of course, Ser. If you would allow me a few moments to dress…" She turned, words polite but eyes cold, so very cold.

Ser Mandon nodded, and stepped out of her chambers in an attempt to preserve modesty.

Some time later, when the filth had been scrubbed from her face and donned a clean dress, high-necked grey-wool with white direwolves inscribed along the sleeves, and, so attired, she departed with Ser Mandon leading her to the Great Hall.

Upon arriving, Sansa noticed a number of things quite alarming to her. For one, the only lords in attendance were Lannister bannermen. Gone were the Stormlords, and even the Crownlords. Nothing but red and gold as far as she could see…_Red for blood,_ she thought with a sinking feeling. Strange too were those actually there, of the Westermen. There were many lords and ladies of the minor Houses, but Tywin Lannister, the King's Hand, was missing. Gone too were the Kingsguard's Lord Commander, the King's uncle Jaime, and Sandor Clegane, the Kingsguard's newest brother. Instead, standing where the Hand might have been was Tyrion Lannister, the Imp. But to no surprise sat Joffrey, with a look of absolute rage upon his face while he was upon the throne, and he played with his crown, a bit of a bored air about him.

Ser Mandon announced to the room gravely, "Lady Sansa Stark, as summoned by His Grace!" He then moved swiftly to take his place with the other members of the Kingsguard. Sansa was alone.

Joffrey's anger seemed to intensify as he laid eyes on Sansa, and those plump lips of his opened to speak. _How did I ever find him so…desirable? _Sansa asked herself silently. _He is repulsive!_

"Do you know what your little cunt of a brother has done now?" He roared, kicking his heels against the Iron Throne.

Sansa shrank back, confused. "I…No, Your Grace. I do not."

"That damned _Young Wolf_ has taken my Uncle Jaime captive. The fool allowed a boy like Robb Stark to take him." Joffrey seemed absolutely livid now.

A small spark of hope ignited within Sansa's heart. _Robb is leading an army? He defeated the Kingslayer? Good. _She thought madly. Her heart seemed to shout it out. _I hope he kills them all._

"What was that?" Joffrey demanded, his face turning a frightful shade of crimson.

"I…do not know what you mean, Your Grace." Sansa stuttered. She had _thought_ those things, hadn't she?

Ser Meryn spoke up. "I believe Lady Stark made some comment as to her particular pleasure on your uncle's capture, Your Grace." The toad of a knight grinned viciously at Sansa.

Joffrey slammed his fist down upon the arm of the throne, cutting his forearm in the process. _Only an unworthy man cuts himself upon the throne. _"Ser Meryn. Teach Lady Sansa that she will show proper respect and deference to her sovereign."

Sansa didn't see the mailed fist coming, nor the booted foot that would impact her midsection. She didn't anticipate that Ser Meryn would backhand her so sharply as to cause her to be flung to the ground. In fact, all she had time to think was of a curse for her own tongue's betrayal.

After what seemed like eternity, a voice boomed out, "Seven hells, boy! What are you doing? Call him off!"

Ser Meryn paused, and looked up at Joffrey for direction. The boy-king waved him away, and Ser Meryn wiped his bloody gauntlets upon his white surcoat. Sansa looked up hesitantly for her savior.

Standing before the throne was Tyrion Lannister, Joffrey's other uncle, and he looked positively furious. "What in the name of all the gods possessed you, boy? Ordering knights of the Kingsguard, even men with shit for honor like Meryn, to beat a girl? Have you lost all sense? Daft, foolish boy!"

Joffrey rose to face Tyrion, overtopping him by a great deal. His fists clenched, and he prepared a sharp retort. Tyrion raised a hand. "Save your words, _Your Grace_. I would suggest you send for someone to escort her back to her quarters."

Joffrey stared at him, still trembling with anger, but, abruptly, it seemed as though some vile thought entered his mind, and he smiled suddenly, not at all a pleasant thing, but something born of hate. "Dear Uncle, thank you. I must have forgotten myself. However, your intervention has shown me something quite clearly. Lady Stark obviously needs a protector, and what could be greater protection than a lord and husband? As a ward of the Crown, she is mine to give. And so, Uncle Tyrion, meet your betrothed."

Sansa fainted straight away.

Some time later, she awoke in her rooms. Pressing a hand to her cheek, she felt the enormous bruising and still sensitive cuts adorning her beautiful face. It seemed as though her enter left sheek would swell, and, from glancing in the mirror, it seemed that she would have a blackened eye as well. Sighing, she pressed a cool cloth to her face after dipping it in her wash basin. _And now I shall be the wife of the Imp. _"It isn't fair! I only want to go home, and marry a kind and brave knight!" _Those are stories. Just stories._

A knock came from her door, and a voice, a horribly familiar voice called, "Sansa, I would have words with you." Joffrey's voice.

She rose to answer the door, and curtsied cordially. "Your Grace." She murmured, her eyes downcast. Flanking him were Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard. He gestured to them, and they stood outside the door. Joffrey entered, and shoved it shut behind him. Unfastening his cloak, he grinned. "Finally alone."

Sansa whimpered slightly. "I, Your Grace, I am uncertain this is appropriate. I am now betrothed as you yourself have said…"

Joffrey pressed a finger to her lips. "Oh, do be quiet. Mother did say you were a silly thing. No, I don't believe my Uncle shall necessarily be the one to whelp a few kittens on you. He is quite the womanizer. I think he would appreciate a woman of more experience." A hand went to her hip, tugging her close to him. "And I am here to give it to you."

Sansa cried out sharply, "Please, Your Grace, Joffrey don't do this!" He ignored her, tugging at the lace of her bodice, and pulling them so as to completely expose her budding bosom, the developing but still pleasantly plump milky-white breasts. "I guess we'll see if there's anything but ice behind those Northern courtesies!" He laughed as she struggled, and he pulled her skirts apart. Stepping back, he began to fumble with the laces of his breeches, and tugged them down, revealing that he was naked beneath, revealing his manhood, a short narrow thing that was decidedly smaller and less attractive than the whispers of the servant girls has suggested. She whispered, "Please, Joffrey. Don't."

He stood over her, his cruel eyes glowing. "Too late, wolf bitch."

And that's when the screaming began.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Here is Chapter Two. Chapter Three will be posted as soon as possible. Hope you enjoyed the steamy scene at the end of the first one, don't worry, there will be plenty more...and better...to come. If you have any questions or comments, please, leave a review and I will answer them. Constructive feedback is appreciated!

**Juliana- **Thanks so much! I appreciate it. Also, congrats on being the first review for this author's first story!

Chapter Two

The morning following his meeting with Robb Stark Ser Corlen Austriman, a sworn sword from White Harbor, found himself mounted upon his faithful steed Echo, and riding along the Kingsroad. He had parted from King Robb with prayers for his speed, and might when he should finally reach King's Landing. Corlen considered himself a pious enough man, and held no special devotion to the Seven, but as an anointed knight still said his prayers daily. Should the Seven choose to aid him, they would. But he kept his faith in the strength of his own arms, not the whims of gods.

And so, with no one but Echo, the night-black stallion a for traveling companion, he prepared to do his duty.

War had come to the Riverlands. He passed parties of smallfolk seeking refuge with kin or in holdfasts, who bore tales of atrocities committed by the soldiers in the Lannisters' pay. There were stories of mass butchery of innocents, and even the rape of the youngest of girls. Such tales, while horrifying and liable to make any warrior furious, were nonetheless an unavoidable facet of war. Ultimately, while the 'High Lords' strove for power, it would be those who had no bone to pick at all who would bear the brunt of the suffering.

But such concerns were above a simple soldier like Corlen, and so he paid little mind to the woes of the commoners as they called out to him for protection, gold or food. He had sworn to complete and task, and complete it he would.

Several days from Riverrun, he heard the steady _clip-clop _of hooves impacting the mud of the road. Easing his sword in its sheath, he rode ahead to meet the horsemen coming his way. As the trees began to thin, he made out a pennant of red flying from the end of a lance. _A_ _Lannister knight, _he thought. Just so, as he reach a bend in the road, he saw a small party of Westermen accompanying a Knight bearing the sigil of House Lannister on his surcoat. The Knight reined his horse in, and shouted a challenge to Corlen, demanding his identity and purpose. Corlen, his armor and own tabard still shrouded by his heavy robe, called back, "I am Palan Snow, a poor mercenary riding for King's Landing, intending to pledge my life to King Joffrey Baratheon."

The knight rode forward. "Snow, eh? You do have the sound of the North upon your tongue. Why do you not fight for your liege-lord, eh?"

Corlen replied, "I do not intend to spill my blood in defense of a traitor, Ser."

The knight nodded, removing his helm beckoning for his men to stand down. "As you say. Still, you seem a capable warrior. And quite large, at that. Perhaps it'd be best if you simply ride back north with me, and give that Young Wolf we hear so much of a proper fight?"

Corlen shook his head, eager to be gone. "No, Ser. I will go to King's Landing, as I've sworn to do."

The knight frowned, and looked down at Corlen's very fine steed. "A beautiful horse, for a sellsword. I should like it. You should dismount, Snow."

Corlen's fist tightened about the pommel of his sword. "This is my horse, Ser."

The knight gestured for one of his men to take Echo's reins. "This is King Joffrey's horse now."

As the man-at-arms grasped the leather of the reins, Corlen whipped his sword from its sheath, severing the man's hand. He dropped to the ground, writhing in agony as bright, crimson blood spurted from the cleanly cut stump. Corlen bellowed, "Piss on the bastard King! For the North!" Leaning down slightly to drive his bloody blade through the shrieking man's chest, Corlen finished the first of his foes.

The Lannister knight was no fool, and drew his sword, intent on engaging the very obvious threat. However, Ser Corlen had other plans. He booted Echo's flank, and the big charger leapt forward and past the other knight's own steed, and soon was riding down the second of the Westermen, trampling him beneath his hooves and pulverizing his thoracic cavity as a whole. The last pair of men-at-arms glanced at each other, terrified of this massive Northman bearing down on them. They turned and fled, dropping their swords and departing post-haste. Corlen wheeled about to face his last remaining and likely more potent adversary.

The Lannister knight raised his sword and booted his own horse forward shouting, "For the King!" Corlen drew his war-axe with his free hand, and hurled it at the knight. Intended for his chest, the knight ducked behind his shield, where the axe buried itself, splintering the wood. As the knight raised himself up to find Corlen once more, he had only time to release a strangled shout as Corlen's blade thrust down and backwards through his mouth, and exited out the back of his neck.

Corlen dismounted, and retrieved his weapons from the still twitching knight, who was drowning in his own blood. Standing above him for a moment, Corln pulled back the Lannister's visor, revealing the terrified face within. Staring down at him for a moment, he sighed, and with great force brought his steel-booted foot straight upon the man's face, crushing his skull. Satisfied with the great crunch that resulted, Corlen cleared his throat, and whistled for Echo, who promptly came trotting towards him. After pausing to wipe his boot upon the surcoat of the knight, Corlen mounted Echo, and made away from the site as quickly as he could.

In the days that followed, Corlen chose to ride through the woods adjacent to the road in order to avoid any further delays. While it required somewhat more attention to be paid, there were decidedly fewer other people, a fact he was greatly pleased by. A few weeks passed like this, before he chose to return to the road about half a day's ride from King's Landing. Clad in a peasant's simple clothing and his armor tied in his saddle-bags, Ser Corlen made his way to the gates.

King's Landing. The first thing Corlen noticed was the smell. Nevermind the Great Sept of Baelor of the Red Keep. The smell was simply atrocious. So many people living so close together…He thought he would have gagged if not for the occasional breeze. However, that was unimportant. All that mattered was finding his way into the Keep. As he passed through the Gate of the Gods, he felt nearly naked without his armor about him. He could almost feel the arrows sprouting in his back, and his whole venture ending here, with Lady Sansa and Lady Arya doomed to captivity.

Miraculously (to his mind, at least) he entered the city without incident. But he still needed a plan.

As he rode through the streets, he noticed there were a decidedly large number of Goldcloaks, the name for the men of the City Watch. However, there were not nearly so many of them as there were smallfolk. The commoners were everywhere, flooding into the city. He was surprised they were still permitted within the walls. Hunger and disease could kill faster and more than an army ten-thousand strong. _Perhaps the mass exodus is indicative of a lack of faith from their own people, _Corlen thought. Pondering this for a moment, the heavyset knight decided that now, as dusk approached, he may as well attack sooner rather than later. Refreshing his memory from a hastily memorized layout of the city, he knew the Red Keep stood nearly in the southeastern corner of the city. His best option, once outside of the fortress' walls with the girls and Joffrey's head, should the Seven be so merciful, would be to exit through the King's Gate, provided it was not closed ahead of him. Failing that, a departure through the Mud Gate, a short passage on a fishing vessel stolen from some unfortunate soul, and a quick voyage down the Blackwater Rush might very well be his only option.

With a sigh, he realized all this planning would go in vain should he fail to rescue the girls in the first place. Booting Echo through the throngs crowding the streets, he made his way along the central avenue to the heart of the Lannister's strength. _Into the belly of the beast, _Corlen thought.

As he came within sight of the walls of the Keep, he dismounted and ducked into a likely looking alleyway. There, he hitched Echo to a large barrel in the midst of a pile of refuse. He began the meticulous process of securing his armor about himself. Corlen concluded that he was indeed running short on time, and that storming the Keep would not be his most brilliant of ideas. So, with a heavy cloak pulled around him, he strode to the drawbridge, and hailed the guards.

One Lannister footman stepped in front of him, raising a hand. "Who are you? What is your business here?"

Corlen replied, "I am Ser Tion Broom, here at the summons of my liege-lord." His gauntleted hands clenched into fists, sliding down to near the grip of his sword.

The guardsman eyed him suspiciously, and waved his companion closer, answering, "Lord Tywin Lannister has not been in King's Landing for some time. Who did you say you were, again?"

Corlen quickly forced out, "I owe fealty to the Crown. Now stand aside. My Lord Father does answer to Tywin Lannister, and would be most displeased were his son to be delayed by some peasant," he spat with great disgust.

The man-at-arms glanced at the other in Lannister livery, both seeming very uncomfortable. "As you say, Ser Tion. Please, proceed."

Corlen nodded, his hands relaxing as he stepped between the two. "You would be best served not to accost me again." With that crisis averted, Corlen was free to give himself a mental bow. He'd done it. He was inside the Red Keep, ready to piss all over the Lannisters' power. N_ow, only to find the Stark girls..._

Striding purposefully into the guest wing of the Red Keep, his eyes began roaming the halls at every meeting of passages, but they were eerily empty of servants. _So much red. Everywhere..._ He could see it now. Images of Stark men-at-arms and servants being butchered in the halls, men in red livery cutting down the white and grey clad ones, men unarmed and unsuspecting. He saw it unfold before his mind's eye, and began to sweat as he realized he was far more alone than those men had been, even in their death throes. _No one, save Robb Stark, knows I am here. Would anyone shed a tear? Would there be anyone even to care?_

Just as he had been prepared to abandon himself as lost, he caught a whiff of an odd perfume wafting through the air. Drawing the bastard sword at his hip in one hand, he whirled about the corner and was shocked to find a bald and extremely startled man at the point of his blade. Corlen murmured in a rough voice, "If you wish to live, you will take me to Sansa Stark."

The bald man blinked, and took one step away from Corlen, his hands raised in surrender. "A Northman, I presume, by your voice. Come to save the girl?"

Corlen matched his step with another one forward, the point pricking the skin ever so lightly. "And what business is that of yours?" He eyed the man up and down. He was clad in very simple robes, and simply exuded an air of softness. He was very pudgy all over, from unblemished hands to plump cheeks. _Clearly no servant._

The bald man gently pushed the edge away from him, rubbing his neck where he had been nicked. "My name is Varys, Ser-"

Corlen gasped, shocked. He exclaimed, "The Spider?"

Varys sighed, rolling his eyes. "Men call me that. But I am sure you do not wish to discuss my many titles, Ser. If you will follow me, you will find whom you seek."

Corlen narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You would so willingly betray your king?"

Varys giggled suddenly, a high-pitched feminine sound. The eunuch replied, "I can hardly serve him if you kill me, Ser. Now please, come with me."

Varys waddled off quickly, so rapidly that Corlen was forced to lengthen his stride considerably to keep up with the ball-less spy. Varys seemed in no mood for conversation, but Corlen hardly had matters he wished to discuss with the man who wasn't exactly a man.

After negotiating several passages that Corlen was sure he had seen before, the pair came across a very well-lit corridor, at the end of which stood two men in white. Varys whispered, "Lady Sansa is in there. I suggest you hurry, Ser, if you mean to be about it." And with that, he tore off in the opposite direction, eager to be gone. Corlen had considered simply ending his treacherous existence upon his blade right there, but surely Varys would scream, or at least cry out, and it would not do to start ahead of schedule. Instead, Corlen readied himself, called out one final prayer for valor to the gods, and began treading swiftly down the hall.

Ser Meryn glanced up to see him, and was about to call out for Corlen to reveal himself, but the Northman was already doing so. Unclasping his broach, he allowed his heavy cloak to fall to the floor behind him, revealing himself fully for the first time. He was covered in thick, gleaming steel from head to toe, from greathelm to boots, and upon his chest lay the teal of White Harbor and his personal sigil, the boar, set upon it. He drew his sword in one hand, axe in the other, and roared, "You will release Sansa Stark into my custody, in the name of Robb Stark, King of the North and of the Trident, or you will die!"

Ser Meryn drew his own blade, and called back to Ser Boros, "Blount, you craven! Stand back. This Northern dog is mine!"

Ser Corlen grinned, and called out, "Come and test your mettle then, you poxed son of a whore!"

Ser Meryn let out a small shout and rushed at Corlen, fury in his eyes. Corlen charged to meet him, and caught Trant's blade upon his own, and shoved him back, bellowing with laughter as the knight of the Kingsguard stumbled to his knees. "This is what it takes to become a knight in the south? And I thought you whoresons did not anoint women."

Meryn stood up, rage plain on his face, and discarded all caution, leading for Corlen, who almost casually hefted his axe and hurled it at Trant's torso. It bit deep into his armor, and buried itself there. Trant was knocked onto his ass for the second time by the force of the blow, and began screaming like a stuck pig.

Corlen chuckled and stepped forward to inspect the damage. "It hardly scratched you, you cunt!" He placed a boot over his chest, gripped the haft of the axe and jerked it free, the blade having only bitten shallowly into Trant's ribs. "Though, I'll give you something to scream about..." Sheathing his own blade, he tugged Trant's from his pathetic grip, and snarled at the fear in the knight's eyes. "At least embrace your fate like a man, craven," he said, and with that Corlen drove the knight's own blade into his heart, and the screams subsided. Glancing up, he noticed the other Kingsguard had bolted, shutting the oaken door behind him. "No matter," murmured Corlen, "I shall simply have to damage this place further."

Taking a few steps back from the doorway after having unceremoniously shoved Trant's corpse to the side, he gathered his strength and charged at the center of the wooden portal, his shoulder colliding with enormous force. The walls shook slightly, and the wood cracked. He grinned, easing his sword in its scabbard and preparing for a final crash. With monstrous strides, his torso rammed into the fractured wood, obliterating the frail door before his plated might. Tossing his helmet aside in the aftermath of the wood chip filled dust explosion, Ser Corlen's jaw dropped at what he saw.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: **No questions since my last post. If you have them don't hesitate to ask. Any good criticism, please, lay it on me. Ideally constructive only. :D

G.R.R.M. owns all characters save my own OC's.

Chapter Three:

Sansa was sure she was dreaming. Or mad. It mattered not, she supposed. Her maidenhead would be taken by Joffrey, the vile, horrible boy that he was, and she could do nothing to stop him.

Naturally she had immediately taken to a fantasy where a knight came to save her from his clutches. And no false knight, like Ser Meryn or Ser Mandon, but a brave, honorable, gentle warrior like Aemon the Dragonknight, whom she'd dreamed of so often. But this man was different from her usual imaginings. He was enormously tall, and broad of chest and shoulder. His arms, even beneath the metal vambraces and such were clearly quite large, veined and bulging with thick muscle. He was handsome, after a fashion, she supposed. His head was large and square, but his jaw appeared as though it was chiseled from stone, and looking into his eyes was like staring into twin pools, infinite in depth. His hair was close cut, his brown locks barely reaching the top of his ears. But he was clean-shaven; and oddity among Northmen. And his jaw appeared unhinged slightly as he stared at her and her bare bosom as well as Joffrey, with his trousers still about his ankles though it smelled as though he had indeed soiled himself in fright.

Sansa could not help but blush as this stranger drank in the sight of her naked breasts. But, just as abruptly as he had entered, he shook his head as though clearing his mind, and coughed, diverting his gaze away from her, a small flush pervading his cheeks even now. _He is embarrassed? _Sansa asked herself. _What manner of ruffian is this?_

His eyes snapped back into focus upon Ser Boros, the fat old fool trembling shamelessly as he faced the hulking Northman. With a wordless shout, the stranger threw himself at Ser Boros, quickly beating him back into her dressing table. The wood snapped as Boros collapsed onto the table, her looking glass crushed beneath his armored weight. The newcomer barked a harsh laugh, and swung his axe in a mighty arc that soared through the air and crunched through Boros' armor like pottery. It was buried up to its haft into his stomach, and Boros began weeping and shrieking madly as he vomited his own blood and viscera. With a contemptuous air, the Northerner bent over, placed his huge hands against each side of Boros' head, and twisted it to one side in a quick jerking motion, snapping the knight's neck and ending his piteous cries.

Releasing a short breath, he looked down on Sansa, before dropping to one knee, "Highness. You live. It is a relief to find you unharmed." He pauses, tactfully ignoring the sweet expanse of bosom in front of him. "That is…The boy there…he did not…" The blushing stranger trails off, leaving it unsaid.

Sansa gasps slightly, and presses a hand to her mouth. "I…Oh, no! No, he did not…I mean…I am yet a maiden…" She finishes lamely, her own cheeks flaming. She desperately casts about for a distraction. "I…erm…Ser. Excuse me, Ser Knight, but I know not your name."

The knight smile, "All is well, Highness. I am Corlen Austriman, of White Harbor. At your eternal service." He takes her hand delicately in his large gauntleted one, and presses it to his lips. "I have come to return you to your brother, King Robb."

At that, the previously mewling Joffrey was up in a flash, "That Stark cunt! I'll kill every last one of them, Wolf bitches included!"

Ser Corlen, her protector, as it seems, takes a step and backhands the Lannister child across his face, splitting his lip and bloodying his cheek. As the mail rakes across Joffrey's face, it leaves deep furrows. Corlen seizes him by the front of his doublet and draws a dirk from his belt. "You will be silent unless spoken to. You may not have much to lose, boy, but lose it you will if you don't hold your damned tongue." The steel blade is pressed beside the golden-haired King's manhood. "You understand my meaning?"

Joffrey's eyes widen in fear, and he begins sobbing uncontrollably, offering wealth, titles and power if only he is left his life. With great disdain, he tosses the boy-King casually out of his way, his back thumping forcefully against the wall. Sansa watches in vicious delight, crowing in Joff's humiliation and cowardice. Smiling, she wraps a cloak about herself, and steps closer to her guardian. "Ser Corlen, as much as I should enjoy seeing him shamed further, we must go. Surely others will have heard the results of your..handiwork."

Corlen nods briefly, and draws his sword. "I came here for two Princesses, Your Highness. Where is your sister?"

Sansa's fragile bubble of giddiness shatters. _Arya..._ Sniffling quietly, Sansa looks up at Corlen, tears brimming in her eyes, "Arya...she-she hasn't been seen since Father was killed. She...she must be dead." She drops to her knees, only to hear a wild cry from the corner of the room to where Joffrey had slunk.

Biting back an oath, Corlen took a step forward to meet the boy who was flailing a sword about wildly. With a sudden graceful slash, he severs Joffrey's arm at the elbow, and drives his fist home into the boy's chest, which in turn removed him from his feet to where he lay whimpering on the ground in a slowly growing pool of his own blood. The bone is visible, gleaming brightly in the waning sunlight peaking through the shutters. Sansa grips Corlen's upper arm as he raises his sword to swing the final blow. "No, Ser Corlen! Do not free him so easily. Let him suffer, here..." Corlen sighs, "As you command, Your Highness. Though I fear we shall regret this."

Corlen reached down to grab her hand. "Highness, I would suggest that we flee. And now. The guards will be here at any moment." He smiles reassuringly. "Do not fear, Princess. I shall not allow them to harm you."

Sansa, dwarfed by this gallant, heroic monster of a knight, can do nothing but return his smile, an adoring twinkle in her eyes, "As you say, Ser Corlen." She giggles quietly, and wonders if her dreams are not so dead after all?


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Night was falling, and the city was in an uproar.

The entirety of the City Watch had been mobilized to find the interlopers whom it must have taken to enter the Red Keep, butcher two knights of the Kingsguard, cripple the King, and escape with his uncle's bride-to-be. The Queen Regent was a maelstrom of emotion, torn between complete and utter grief for her maimed golden boy, and piercing, firey rage that the trespassers had yet to be captured, castrated, flayed, boiled alive;no punishment seemed harsh enough. Janos Slynt, Commander of the Goldcloaks was quite certain they would be unable to evade them for long, as the Watch would surely be searching for a small party of hardened warriors with a girl and their dead in tow. For surely one man could not have done such things?

All across the city, Goldcloaks began clashing with any group of mercenaries and sellswords they happened upon, on orders from Lord Slynt to apprehend the fugitives at all cost. Scenting a hefty reward for presenting a young girl and a number of corpses, the poorly disciplined Watchmen carved a bloody swathe throughout Flea Bottom and other more affluent areas. With the rising of the moon came a number of small fires which flared up in the chaos, illuminating the city streets in red light. No one, however, thought to bother a lone horseman with a child seated in front of him. The powerful, midnight black steed clopped quietly through the streets as he and his cloaked riders made their way from the carnage towards the Gate of the Gods.

As the pair approached the gates, a trio of Goldcloaks who had not abandoned their post stepped in front of the horse, raising his halberd in challenge. "King's Landing is being quarantined. No one in or out without his Grace's express approval."

The enormous figure replied, a hint of amusement in his voice, "And how fares His Grace? I hear he is pressed for time and run ragged, short-handed as he is..."

The other, tiny in comparison to his bulk, struggled to stifle a horrified giggle.

The Goldcloak's eyes narrowed, and he signaled for his fellows to come forward. "How would you be knowing that? And who is this wit you, eh?" He reached up, and seized the smaller one's hood, tossed it back and his jaw dropped in shock. He turned back to his men, shouting, "It's the girl! Kill him and-" His voice trailed off as he felt a prick between his shoulder blades.

A voice whispered, "If you and your friends would see another day dawn, you will be silent. You will say nothing of what you have seen, else wise my associates shall see to it you lose more than your King has."

The Watchman's face grew paler with every passing word, and finally he nodded emphatically, stammering desperately, "Please! I shall do as you ask, forget what I have seen, just please don't kill me!" At that, the other Watchmen looked at one another warily. Clearly this one was not to be trifled with. They too threw down their weapons.

The man withdrew his blade, and sheathed it at his hip. In front of him, Sansa Stark pulled her cloak more tightly about herself, and her hood once more over her head. Booting his steed forward, the pair disappeared through the gates into the night.

One of the Watchmen looked to their leader in askance, "Captain, who in all of the Seven Hells was that?"

The Captain shook his head, and checked his breeches to ensure he hadn't soiled himself. "I don't know, Tomas, but he frightens me."

It was morning. Corlen rubbed the sleep from his reddened, weary eyes. He had kept watch ever since they had camped in the hours before dawn. It had been a mad flight after the confrontation at the city gates, with Echo bearing the both of them along the Kingsroad in the dark. When he felt the girl go limp against him, he decided some measure of proper rest was in order. So, he had urged Echo into the forest, still within sight of the road,but in a secluded copse which should shield them from prying eyes and other unwanted detection. The Stark girl had drifted off as peacefully as could be, resting her head upon his saddlebags while Echo, too, rested. Corlen simply sat with his back to a sturdy old oak, unwilling to allow his watch to slip for even a moment. They would be searching outside of the city, soon. His threat would only buy the guardsmen's silence for a day or less, before they began to fear the wrath of the King more than that of Ser Corlen's phantom assassins.

But, until then, Echo would need rest. Corlen could not allow his mount to die of exhaustion, for if that happened, they would truly be lost.

Corlen sat like this, lost in thought until it was nearly mid morning and the sun had already risen high above the horizon. All around him was the green of summer, the fresh, moist leaves, gentle breeze, and sounds of dozens of birds frolicking throughout the upper boughs of the forest. It was beautiful, but it was not to last. First, war would come and ravage the land. Then, autumn, and the death of the green. Finally, true to the Stark words, Winter would come and cover it all. While the Starks held those words as their own, all Northmen knew them to be true. But, for Corlen, Winter was far off, and war was at his heels. One enemy at a time.

And so he sat, until he heard a gentle rustling, and turned his head to see the Stark girl stirring. With a sigh, he rose, quickly tying the neck of his tunic properly. As usual, he felt naked without his armor, but he could hardly wear it from King's Landing to Riverrun. His tunic was of good, sturdy cloth, an unassuming brown with matching trousers. Peasant's garb, to be sure, but unremarkable. Hardly memorable.

The girl yawned softly, and rubbed her fists into her bleary eyes. "Ser? Where...where are we?"

Ser Corlen answered, "We are some miles from the city, Highness. We rode through the night. I felt it would be prudent to be as far from your former betrothed's hands- excuse me, hand, as possible."

A second giggle passed between her lips. "Indeed, Ser." She paused, pursing her lips. Finally, she continued in a small voice, "I did not thank you, Ser, for freeing me from that...that monster! If you had not come when you did, I fear that...well..."

Corlen began to tremble with barely suppressed rage as he thought back to what he had witnessed. That _little shit. Take the girl's virtue, would he? I should have cut off his damned cock instead of his arm. _Instead he said, "Highness. He did not...hurt you, did he?" The question was loaded with raised eyebrows and other meaning. Sansa-_ Her Highness, Austriman! Just because you saw her teats doesn't make her any less nobility! - _Her Highness made a very distasteful frown. "What you mean to ask, Ser Corlen, is if he deflowered me, so as to better alert my brother?" She asked with brow upraised.

As the knight's cheeks flooded with crimson, Her Highness laughed prettily. "He did not. I shall spare you the discomfort of asking. Though...they struck me. So much."

Corlen snarled slightly, and dropped to one knee at her feet. "Highness, had I but been there...I would have cut them all down, allowed them to cut ME down, before I would have allowed harm to come to you."

Her Highness smiled, a sweet, shy thing, and cupped his cheek in her hands. "My brave, valiant savior. Please, Ser, enough of the Highnesses. Call me Sansa."

Ser Corlen nodded, a broad grin blooming across his face. "Of course, High-...Sansa." He paused. "If you allow me to use your name, might I be so bold as to request you use mine?"

She nodded happily. "It would be my pleasure, Corlen."

"Could you teach me to use a sword?"

The sudden question caught Corlen off-guard. Five days had passed since their wild departure from King's Landing, in which they had spent their days riding Echo along the Kingsroad and quickly departing sight at the first hint that they might not be alone. Sansa and Ser Corlen had just made camp for the evening in a small thicket beside a brook. He glanced up from where he was squatting beside their miscule fire. "Teach you to use a what?"

Sansa looked at him for a long moment, as if to say he was either thick or deaf. "I asked if you could teach me to use a sword."

Corlen pondered this for a moment, searching for the correct words. "Sansa...you are a Princess. I doubt your brother the King would be greatly appreciative of any attempt to make you into a warrior. If we run in to any fighting which I can't handle, you will be running, not staying."

Sansa's hands bunched into fists at her hips. "You thick-headed buffoon! What if we get separated? Or I can't run? Or I could make the difference between you living and dying!"

Corlen stood up, his voice rising. "Sansa. You will in no way endanger yourself for me. Ever. I'm just a hedge knight who used to serve Lord Lamprey. You are the sister of my King, and for now, the third in line to the throne."

Sansa's voice rose further, nearing a shriek, filled with rage and grief. "I will not watch you die, you great idiot! I could not bear it." She took a hesitant step towards him, before throwing her arms about him, sobbing into his chest. "You are my knight. Mine. You do not have my permission to die. So, you will teach me how to use a blade, or I'll have Robb cut your head off."

Corlen barked out a short laugh, though his gaze softened. "Aye, I do not doubt it. Very well." He tugged a long, narrow poniard from his belt. "This dagger. Easy to hide, easy to draw. I will show you how to best defend yourself. But if I tell you to run, you will run. No arguments."

She nodded slowly. "That will have to do for now, I suppose." She tossed her head, auburn tresses cascading about her shoulders. "Can we begin?"

Corlen nodded. "Aye. There are a few key concepts to cover. This is not a weapon. It is a tool. It does not kill...you kill. I pray you will not need to, but...Taking a life is not easy. But, if you are fighting for something...someone...it is nowhere near as hard."

He drew his own dirk from where it was strapped to the saddlebags. "Now, let's see what you can do!"

Distracted by sweet smiles, a bright laugh, and the haunting scent of that beautiful auburn hair, he never heard the soldiers coming until he saw the bright red and gold of their pennantsy and the glint of the sun off of brightly-polished armor.

They were nearly a fortnight gone from the city, and were nearing the contested lands. Cursing inwardly, he pulled his cloak over Sansa, shielding her head from view. Whispering quietly, he instructed her, "Say nothing. They've likely already spotted us. They know we're not small folk, as we're headed for the war, and I'm clearly nothing if not a fighting man. With luck, there will be few enough of them that they will not wish to force a confrontation. If I fall, you will take Echo and ride for Riverrun. No arguing," he stated, heading off her inevitable complaints. "Shall we greet our Lannister friends?"

A mounted soldier in Lannister livery drew his sword, and shouted for the hooded pair to halt. With him were six men on foot, in an assortment of chainmail and boiled leather. The horseman booted his horse forward and declared quite confidently, "You there, Ser, shall dismount and identify yourself and...your companion." He eyed Sansa speculatively.

Corlen grunted in reply, hopping out of his saddle, sword and axe at each hip. He called back, "I am Ser Corlen Austriman, of White Harbor." He grinned suddenly. "Would you challenge me, Westerlander?"

The Lannister man's eyes widened in surprise before he barked out a short laugh. "You would fight us all, Northern dog?"

The hulking Northman drew his weapons, and whispered to Sansa, "Stay behind my shield. One of those fellows has a bow." He turned his attention to the mounted man of the West. "No. I would kill you all. Your heads would make a fine tribute to the King in the North."

The Westerlander smacked his steed's flank with the flat of his blade, calling to his men, "Kill the Northman!"

Corlen hurled his axe at the charging horse's chest, causing it to collaspe as the blade bit deep into its body. The soldier was trapped beneath it as it fell, crushing his legs as his own pitiful cries joined those of the horse. The remainder of the men, most poorly armed, rushed towards him, but not all at once, some ahead of one another. Corlen made his stand behind the horse, thrashing about as it bled to death. The first of the Lannister footmen reached him, raising his shortsword high above his head as he brought it down, only to be stopped in his tracks as the steel edge of cold, Northern metal slashed across his stomach, emptying his entrails upon the road. Two more men came blundering along the road, with one more trailing behind them. Two archers stood where their party had originally stopped; one stood with an arrow to string, waiting for a clear shot. The other, seeing the fate of their most bold, had abandoned his fellows and fled into the forests. But there was no more time for that.

One man in red-and-gold swung a cudgel, the other a small hand axe. Corlen hopped backwards, grinning as the axeman clumsily swung, only for his blade to bite into his ally's arm. The warrior beaing the cudgel dropped it, letting lose a roar of agony and a string of curses like a fishmonger's wife. Corlen hacked brutally away at the man with the axe, his slow moves no match for the brutally strong and quick attack of the Northerner. He was soon cut down, and a flick of his sword's blade cut the throat of the bleeding soldier beside him. The fifth footman, bearing a spear, attempted to keep his distance, thrusting swiftly at the weaker points in Corlen's armor. Corlen was quick, but not that quick. The spear blade lodged itself deep in the meat of his thigh, in a gap between two plates bound by leather. With a blood-maddened shout, he seized the haft of the spear in one hand, trapping the Lannister man with him. He brought back his sword, drenched with Westerlander blood, and delivered a mighty blow, colliding with his adversary's neck. The man's head flopped sideways, hanging from his shoulder by a thin strip of flesh and tendon, his lifeblood spurting forth from the almost-stump like a fountain.

Gasping for breath and pain blurring his vision, Corlen let his sword fall from his grip, and surveyed the scene around him. He saw the dead. Those he had killed. _Four. _The man who had evidently expired beneath his now still horse. _Five. _The two who had fled. _Seven. What? Only one fled..._ His thoughts trailed off as he looked up, only to feel the impact of a goose-feathered shaft blooming in his shoulder, its steel arrowhead biting deep into his flesh. He feel, back scraping across the blood-soaked ground. He opened his eyes. All he saw was the sky, blue as the Tully colors. _Or those lovely Tully eyes. _He groaned slightly, trying to push himself up to his elbows, only to be crushed painfully against the ground by an iron-booted foot. "Lie still and die, you Northern bastard." A voice said.

As his eyes darkened, the last thing he saw was a narrow blade erupting forth from the Lannister man's heart.


	6. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Well, hello everyone. I hope you're enjoying the tale so far. I'm sorry about how long it took me to prepare Chapter Four, and I hope you thought it was worth it. I've been battling some recent illness, but I hope to have a new chapter ready every few days for the next...until whenever I get tired of this plot. Things will be heating up in the next few chapters. How do I know that? I don't. Just guessing.

Anyhow, if you have questions or comments, feel free to leave a review. I'll answer your questions, if you have any, for all the world to see in the following chapter's AN. With all that being said, and no further ado, here is Chapter 5.

CHAPTER FIVE

_ In a frosty clearing in a land he was sure he would never lay eyes on again, he stood silently as he gazed upon a snow-covered cairn. He tucked a fur- lined riding glove behind his belt, and drew his sword. He murmured softly, "I have failed you. I have brought shame to my name." Sliding the blade against the open palm of his hand, he held it over the icy stones. "With my blood do I make this oath. I will redeem the honor of my name." Squeezing his fingers into a fist, dark red droplets dripped into the otherwise unblemished white. He turned away, unable to bring his eyes to the single upraised boulder in the center, plain lettering carved into its bare face. Names in small characters adorn it, with two words etched in bold print across the middle: **HOUSE AUSTRIMAN.**_

* * *

He awoke.

Jerking upright, he pressed bare hands to his face, streaked with perspiration. He stared up into the sky. His lips moved slowly. "Mid morning." He shook his head, as if to clear it. His eyes were bleary, and it appeared as though all the world moved through fog. He felt the cool breeze against the nape of his neck, blowing through now shaggy, unkempt hair. He was surprised at the mildness of the day, him sweating like a Wildling south of the Wall. Then a thought struck him, and he cursed softly, "Gods! Damned wounds must have festered. Fever sweats and fevered dreams. Nothing more." He paused, now confused. "How is it, though , that I yet live? Am I a captive? And what about-Sansa!" He scrambled out from beneath a woolen blanket to find he had been stripped of his clothing. As he began to push himself up, an agonizing jolt ran up his leg, and coupled with the burning pain in his shoulder, he collapsed. Cursing loud enough to wake the dead, he laid still. He would need assistance to rise, this much was plain.

Corlen inspected his wounds. Glancing down at his leg, it seemed the deep hole in his thigh had been cleaned and stitched shut by someone with very fine needlework. The spear had buried itself deep in his thigh, if the nearby bloody rags were anything to judge by. "At least it didn't hit anything important," he chuckled without any real mirth. Turning his neck to inspect his shoulder, he saw it was bound with a fresh cloth. "They want me alive, whoever 'they' are. Where is that bloody girl?" He exclaimed this in open invitation to all the world.  
He briefly paused beside a thick shrub bearing some all berries and supported himself against a nearby oak tree before a sweet voice called out, "You asked for me?"

He glanced up with a start. "Sansa?" He hazarded.

She laughed happily, and swept into view. Her dress was filthy; he took a second look at his bandages, and realized they were scraps from her clothing which had been in his saddlebags. "I'm glad you decided you'd had enough of playing the slug-a-bed," she quipped with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He couldn't help but release a relieved laugh. "I'm pleased to see you're alive and...unharmed."

She shrugged slightly, "Certainly less harmed than you were, Ser Knight. Perhaps I should carry the sword and wear the armor, and you the dress."

Corlen's face darkened, "I...I am sorry. I failed to carry out my charge. Again..."

Her eyes softened, losing their teasing light. "Corlen, you did all you could. More than most men could. You nearly died to protect me." She stepped closer. "Never doubt that you have all the courage, valor, and honor of any knight alive or in the tales."

He grunted at that, rubbing his hands against his eyes. "Gods, Sansa, don't make me laugh. I'm no hero. All I want is to atone for my sins." As she drew closer, he realized he was still unclothed. A faint flush entering his cheeks, he cleared his throat, "Ah...Sansa...I think it might be best if you withdrew for a while, as I am a bit...indecent."

Sansa's own cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. "Who do you think got you into that state in the first place?" she asked, eyes demurely locked at her feet.

"Oh," was all Corlen could say. "I see." Deliberately turning his back to her, he awkwardly hopped on one leg back to his bedroll. His foot catching on a root poking up from the soil, he fell flat on his face with a loud thump.

* * *

"Corlen!" Sansa screamed in an anguished cry. She rushed over to where he lay, and laid a hand upon his bare shoulder. "Are you all right? You are not hurt, are you?"

He rolled over, all pained groans. As he did so, Sansa could not help but glance down at his naked form beneath her.

Her enormous knight was far different from the boys she and Jeyne Poole had whispered and giggled about. She had always imagined that she would marry a handsome, slim and kind knight, like Ser Loras Tyrell. Corlen Austriman, however, was a different specimen indeed. His shoulders, for one, were broad like those of an ox, and his chest was wide and deep, packed with thick slabs of hard muscle. His arms were a frightful sight, each thicker than her own legs, and seemed strong enough to crush her with ease. To so many others, his face was hard and grim, but whenever their eyes met, those icy mannerisms seemed to melt away, and she could see the warmth and gentleness that lay beneath. She supposed he was rather handsome, in a common sort of way, but those piercing eyes of his...She felt as though he could see beyond whatever facade she might wear to what lay beneath. Her gaze trailed beyond his hairy chest, covered in thick, black curls, until it passed his waist and-

Her pulse quickened. She had seen him naked before, but it had been dark, and the firelight poor. She had known him to be a large man, but beneath the light of the sun she knew how large.

She had not expected...well, THAT. While her erstwhile 'love' had attempted to force himself upon her, back in her rooms in the Red Keep, she had thought him to be normal. Seeing Corlen bare properly for the first time, she decided either she had been mistaken or her Northman must truly have giant blood in him. His tool was long and thick, much like the rest of him, and pale as the snows of the North. Its tip was pink and decidedly blunt. Sansa felt her cheeks flood with crimson at the sight, but did not turn away. Corlen was still moaning from the pain, and Sansa wondered for one delirious moment what it might be like to lie with him, as a man does with a woman. He ended her trance by jerking his cloak about him, clenching his teeth but otherwise ignoring the pain. "Sansa, I...That is to say, you mustn't .." He tried to explain stutteringly, before finally stating with a sigh, "I am sorry you have had to see me like this."

She quickly rose to her feet, and folded her hands at her waist. Sansa blinked, surprised. "Are you? You seemed happy enough to find me in a similar state."

Corlen ran a hand through long, filthy hair. "Sansa, whatever bond we share..." He trails off. "What I mean to say is that you are a Princess. I am a hedge knight. Nothing can happen between us. It would not be permitted." He stops, and adds softly, "Besides. I would never dishonor you so." With much grunting and muffled cursing, he forced himself to his feet. "You are a wonderful girl, little wolf, and will make some Southron lord very happy. Whatever else might have been, in another world, is just that. I will protect you, to my death, but we know our duty. To your brother, my King. To the North."

Sansa's eyes widened as he spoke, and with his talk of duty she sprang towards him and flung her arms about his waist. "You are the bravest, kindest man I ever met! You saved me from the Lannisters. By yourself!" Tears dripped freely down her alabaster cheeks. "You cheapen yourself too much, Corlen Austriman. You are the most honorable, truest knight I have ever known."

Corlen returned her embrace vigorously, but stopped, and placed his hands upon her shoulders and pushed her away. "Little one, you call me true and valorous, but you know nothing of me. Of who I am."

She dismissed him, and snapped back angrily, "Don't condescend to me! I am not a child! How old are you, anyway? Some old man with grey in his beard, I shouldn't doubt."

At that, he grinned. "I've counted but nineteen winters, Highness."

Sansa blinked in surprise, and a small voice whispered in the back of her mind, h_e's not all that older than you, you know. _Her voice adopted a lower, more interested tone. "Oh really?"

He sighed, turning away from her. "You truly know nothing. Well, you seem intent to hold to these notions of my grandeur. I shall disabuse you."

He sat down upon a likely looking log, cloak still wrapped about himself. "I am the last Austriman. My father, brothers, sister, mother...even the servants were all slain one evening when I was young. Like you."

Sansa perched beside him, smoothing her skirts. "I'm so sorry, Corlen. I...I did not know." One of her hands rose to rub his shoulder, and she leaned her cheek against his arm.

He coughed, his voice growing hoarse. "It was my fault."

Sansa jerked away from him, eyes filled with shock. "You...what? Don't say such things!"

Corlen twisted angrily to face her, grief-driven rage in his face. "And why damn well not? It was! I went gallivanting off after a wolf when I was to watch for intruders, and when I returned, Hearthglow Hall had been burned to ash, along with every bit of family I had in this world! Everyone I'd ever loved-dead, because I was a foolish child!" He roared this, and slammed his fist into the trunk beneath him, bloodying it quite well but leaving a sizable impression in the wood. "You see? I am no hero. My failure as a protector was complete long before you ever were in any danger, Sansa."

Sansa's eyes brimmed with tears. "You carry such pain. How can you hold it all inside? You will destroy yourself Corlen. You need to let go."

Corlen turned back to her, his own pupils wet with unshed misery. "How can I dishonor the memory of my family like that? How could you ask me to forgive myself for murdering them all!"

Sansa pressed a finger to his lips, "Ssh...You were a child. You could not have stopped the men who did this, yes? All that would have happened is that you too would have died. And I would still be imprisoned as Joffrey's...concubine."

Corlen cautiously perked up, "You think...you think they would understand? That they have forgiven me for not being there?"

She nodded, pressing her head into his chest. "Yes, my knight, they have. They love you, and look down in pride upon the warrior of justice, valor and honor you are."

He slowly placed a hand upon her back, and it rose to gently stroke that fiery auburn hair. "Then I will bring justice to those who did this. They will all pay for what they have stolen from me. But first...first, I will see you safely home." He smiled then, and for the first time in a very long while, he was free.


	7. Chapter 6

Author's Note: As I said, I'll be posting a new chapter every couple or few days. If you have any questions, or an issue with the story as a result of a continuity problem, well, for the former, please ask, for the latter, get over it. Thanks to all of you who have been following the tale from the beginning, and for you first-timers, welcome. I appreciate the support. And so, because I've begun droning on endlessly, here is chapter six.

CHAPTER SIX

Weeks passed, in which Corlen, stoic as could be, insisted that he was well enough to travel, and Sansa, calm as could be, forced him to remain in their small camp, and even spoon-fed him his meals. Privately, he conceded that she might be right, that if he pushed forward he might not make the journey to Riverrun-alive, anyways. Still, he was as difficult as a sulking child, and poor Sansa was left to struggle with the hunting, cooking and building of their makeshift shelter herself.

Finally, Sansa awoke one day to find Corlen standing tall with the aid of a large oak branch. Sansa smiled and murmured in askance, "Does this mean you'll be able to feed yourself from now on ?"

"I don't know," he teased. "Perhaps I enjoy having a lovely girl waiting on me."

She laughed and shook her head in response, "Ser! Surely you jest!"

Corlen grinned, "Aye, Highness, I do, but only of your services as a maid." His voice softened somewhat. "Truly, though, Sansa...thank you. Without your aid...well, I'm certain I wouldn't be around to have this conversation."

Sansa's face brightened, and she swept towards him and through her arms about his waist. "I'm glad to see that you're well, Corlen."

Corlen nodded, "Now that I can walk, and since you refused to leave me behind, it's time we got out of these damned woods. I want a roof over my head."

Sansa returned a serious nod in kind, "Indeed. Riverrun should be only a few days ride from here, provided that it's...well."

Corlen wrapped his own arms about her, running a hand through her hair tenderly. "Shh...all will be well. I'm sure your brother is sitting upon his new throne now having defeated both the Kingslayer and his father."

Sansa's eyes shone with unshed, miserably apprehensive tears. "But what if he didn't? What if I'm the only Stark left in Westeros? Oh gods..." She clutched at his arms, burying her face into Corlen's chest and and sobbing helplessly.

They stood there for a while, supporting one another there in the clearing. Finally, Corlen whispered gently beside her ear, "No matter what has happened, be it good or ill, I will not leave you. I will protect you."

Sansa looked up at him then, a smile shining through her tear streaked face. "Thank you, Corlen. I do not know what I would do without you."

Corlen chuckled, "I pray we never have to find out."

Some days later, they emerged from a particularly dense part of the forest to find themselves upon a hill devoid of trees of any kind, and overlooking a sprawling tent-city. They saw banners rising above the burlap, streams of Tully red and blue, and the Stark grey and white fluttering in the breeze. I'm the heart of it all stood Riverrun, the ancestral home and seat of power of House Tully. Corlen winked at Sansa then, and spread his arms wide, "And here we are, Highness. Welcome to Riverrun."

Sansa laughed jubilantly, "I've never been so happy in all my life to see those colors."

Corlen offered her his hand in order to assist her up on to Echo. "Shall we go greet the masters of the Riverlands and the North?" He struggled to step up into the saddle, but finally managed to hoist himself up behind her, seized his steed's reins and urged him off down the hill.  
As the pair of them passed through the broad, trodden-down dirt streets of the camp, Corlen's ears pricked up at every conversation. It seemed that all Amy of the men wanted to discuss, apart from the food, weather, and incompetence of Westerlanders, was the Young Wolf's new bride. It seemed that, while he had been thrashing the Lannisters in their own lands, he had taken one of them to wife. Jeyne Westerling, eldest daughter of the family of the Crag, was know the Queen of the North. At this news, a surprised Corlen whispered in her ear, "I had heard your brother was promised to one of Walder Frey's brood."

Sansa leaned back in order to reply, "In King's Landing, we had heard as much as well." She paused, her voice slightly strained. "To think that only a handful of years ago we were but children playing in the castle yard, and now...Robb is married, and I wasn't there. Father wasn't there."

One of Corlen's hands let go of the reins and came to rest upon her shoulder. "You're here now. That is what matters."

Sansa smiled, "I suppose you're right. Come, Ser. I would not think you would wish to miss your triumphant entry."

By midday, Sansa, Corlen and Echo arrived at the gates to the keep. Corlen dismounted, threw back his cloak and revealed himself to the Tully men at the gate. He was wearing a tunic in the teal of White Harbor with a charging boar stitched boldly across the chest. His breeches and boots, where not mud-splattered, were black as Echo's coat. He declared to the guardsmen, "I am Ser Corlen Austriman, bearing a message for His Grace, Robb of House Stark.  
One of the men eyed Sansa suspiciously, but was not particularly inclined to investigate. Hardly willing to deny a Northman passage, especially one so fearsome looking as Corlen, the guards stood aside and the two of them proceeded in to the keep. Echo was left with a nearby stable boy, and Corlen grabbed his walking staff, leaning heavily upon it. He turned to Sansa, who was smoothing her skirts and adjusting her hood over her face. He murmured, "Are you ready, little wolf?"  
Sansa showed him a beaming smile, radiant even beneath her shadowed cloak. He offered her his arm, and they threw open the door of the great hall as one.

Robb Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell and so far as he knew, Riverrun, was seated upon his throne, cradling his head in his hands and shaking with rage at the news that he was the last Stark in Westeros. He lifted his head, and said to Jon Umber, the Greatjon, "Lord Umber. You have my condolences for the loss of your son. Walder Frey has counted the passing of far too many years. He will know justice for his crimes against the North and his own liege-lord alike."

The Greatjon, unusually silent, nodded briskly and replied, "Your Grace. I will cleanse that warren of traitors. I will bring you the old bastard's head myself! What he had done to Lady Catelyn...that is unforgivable."

Robb shook his head, his anger seething inside of him at the memory. "The North remembers, Lord Umber. The fates of my mother and uncle will be avenged. But not by you. In one week's time, we will ride for the Twins and raze them to the ground. Every creature of Frey blood will be purged."

The Greatjon gave him a small, approving smile. "As you say, Your Grace."

As the Greatjon turned to go, the doors to the great hall slammed open. Inwardly, Robb wondered what disastrous tidings could come now. He turned to his queen, Jeyne, who smiled back at him in encouragement. She laid her hand atop his, and he squeezed it tightly, drawing strength from her nearness. As he turned back, the doors had shut, and he struggled to see who it was in the poor light. An oddly familiar voice called out, "Your Grace! Might I beg an audience with you?"  
At this, a number of lesser lords of both the North and the Trident looked on in interest.

The source of the disturbance was a pair standing just beyond the firelight. One figure was quite large, dwarfing the other. Robb answered, "Reveal yourself, if you be friend!"

The larger of the two stepped forward. Robb thought the voice was of someone he knew, and that size... Could it be? Surely it was not-  
He smiled then, "Surely Your Grace remembers me? I am Corlen Austriman, your humble servant." He offered a sweeping bow.

Jeyne cast Robb a hopelessly confused look. Robb's countenance brightened immediately, and he rose to invite him closer. "Ser Corlen! It is good to see that you still live! I heard of your exploits in King's Landing. Already they are calling the bastard's unknown assailant the "Boy-Render"."

At that, Corlen chuckled grimly. "I am pleased to know my work is appreciated."

Robb nodded, grinning fiercely, until he asked, "I suppose that means that...you were unable to accomplish your other task."

Corlen sighed, "I am sorry. Lady Arya eluded my attempt to rescue her."

Robb gave a small start. "Arya? But what about-"

Corlen cut him off, "Your Grace, might I present Her Highness, Princess Sansa Stark?"

Sansa stepped forward, and let her cloak fall behind her, and she stood there a moment, eyes demurely downcast, before abandoning dignity and rushing into Robb's arms, flinging herself into his embrace. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as well as his, and so the two of them hugged for a long while, rejoicing in the other's life.  
Corlen stood back, a small smile upon his face as he leaned heavily upon his staff.

Some time later, Robb turned back to the knight, his hand squeezing Sansa's firmly. "Ser, you have done the North a great service. You ventured to the seat of our foes' power, crippled their pretender king, and returned to us the Princess Sansa." At this, a chorus a cheers and approving shouts arose from the assembled lords. Ser Corlen grinned in reply, limping forward. "It was an honor to spill and shed blood in defense of Her Highness, Your Grace."

"You are wounded?" Robb inquired, concerned.

Corlen shook his head slowly, answering, "No, Your Grace. I am recovering from older injuries, but I live and speak, thanks to Her Highness' timely intervention."

Robb swelled with pride for his sister. "We shall look forward to tales of her own exploits. I am sure that, coupled with your defeat of two of the Kingsguard, Ser, we shall be keeping the poets and bards well-supplied with business."

Jeyne giggled at that, and Robb jumped as though he had forgotten her presence. Blushing slightly, he turned to Sansa after gripping his wife's hand. "Sister, this is Jeyne Westerling, my bride and Queen."

Sansa dipped in a small curtsy, "Your Grace. A pleasure."

Jeyne replied in kind. "Your Highness. Your brother has told me so much of you. I do hope we might be friends."

Sansa smiled faintly, "I should like that, Your Grace." She seemed very distracted, and it seemed at least to Robb that Sansa had eyes only for her hulking savior.

The King returned his gaze to the knight from White Harbor. "Ser Corlen. You have done both the North and I an enormous service. I would grant you any boon that you would ask of me."

A small murmur arose among the gathered lords, mostly whispers of speculation and even a few wagers. Most assumed he would demand lordship, at the least.  
Corlen appeared lost in thought, and after a long silence, he stated, "Your Grace. I would ask that I be released from your service and all oaths of fealty that bind me."

This produced a shocked silence. None of the nobles could believe what they had heard. Some hedge knight asking such a thing of his king? Angry mutterings broke out, accusations of cowardice and treason of all things among the most popular. One landed knight went so far as to spit at Corlen's feet.  
Robb himself was merely...disappointed. He had hoped the man would be more heroic than that, perhaps? He could have used a man like that. Still, he would keep his word. "It pains me, Ser, that a man of such strength of arms and undaunted spirit would make this request, but so be it. I, Robb of House Stark, King of the North and the Trident, do declare you, Ser Corlen Austriman, to be free of all oaths of fealty and bonds of service."

Corlen nodded, and smiled up at his sister. Robb searched Sansa's face as her own brilliant smile flashed back. Was there something other than friendship there? He didn't know. Perhaps it was best that this Ser Corlen would be gone from here.  
Corlen limped as best he could up to the dais and fell to one knee painfully in front of Sansa. He pronounced in a loud voice, "Your Highness. I would offer you my life and my sword. I pledge to be your sworn shield and most faithful guardian until death claims me. My life and honor are one with yours, Sansa of House Stark."

The silence was deafening. Lords who had been disparaging Corlen's honor only a moment before were only able to smile in approval and stare in shock in turns. Sansa, sweet Sansa, only reached down and cupped his cheeks in her hands. She pressed a kiss to his brow. "Arise, my champion," she said, "and take up your station."  
A wild cheer broke out across the hall, rowdy Northmen bellowing and thumping the oak of the tables, and even the Riverlords cheered alongside them. Robb could only stare. He knew it. She was enamoured with him, and, if Robb was any judge, the knight was as well. _What a mess,_ he thought.


	8. Chapter 7

Author's Note:

**JessPanda**- I'm glad you're enjoying it. As for your request, well, italicized narrative is always fun. If we'll be seeing any...you'll just have to wait and see, I suppose.

**To all the rest of you, dear readers**- Classes have started up again, so do not be alarmed if my every couple or few days updates turn into every few days. I promise, I haven't forgotten you! And so, here's Chapter Seven. Which, coincidentally, is the longest to date. Actually, twice as long as the next longest. Enjoy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sansa burst into Corlen's room, shrieking madly, tears pouring down her cheeks. Corlen leapt to his feet with a startled oath, and reached for the dagger at his belt. As he stood, she fell weeping into one of the chairs beside his fire. The room was rather orante, befitting the personal shield of the Princess. He had been instructed after some protest to remain in his chambers, as he was informed that she would be safe enough with her brother the King. He had been resting his leg, which pained him still, forcing him to walk with a bit of a limp. His room, however, had comforts that still seemed so unnecesary. The gilded bathing tub was a problem. As were the silken sheets, when good, sturdy wool might do, and provide more warmth at that. But, he supposed he might as well enjoy the fruits of his new position so long as he might. Sansa had been gone for a good while, and he had been about to disobey when he found himself in this increasingly unpleasant situation.  
Crossing quickly to her side, he knelt beside her and took one of her hands in his. "Are you in danger? What of the King? Speak!" He demanded.  
She sniffled quietly. "They're all dead. All of them."  
Corlen's eyes widened. This was much worse than he feared. "Your brother...Are you in danger, Sansa? What has done this?"  
Sansa turned her head to offer him a wan, sad smile. "Silly man. No one is in danger. Robb is fine."  
He heaved a sigh of relief, before seizing her shoulders and shaking her. "Seven hells, but don't do that! I was ready to fight our way out of a _second _castle!"  
She might have laughed then, but the sound was so miserable that Corlen thought his heart might break. "Who is dead, then, Sansa?"  
She murmured, as if far away, "My family..."  
He felt as though an icy hand had gripped his heart. "What do you mean?"  
"Arya, dead, little brothers, dead, and mother and father as well." She said in a whimsical, almost sing-song manner. She giggled hysterically. "Even Uncle Edmure."  
He felt as if he too might cry. "Sweetling...I would that you not be forced to know this pain, but..." He trailed a hand through her hair, stroking it softly. "The gods give, and the gods take away. You should be thankful, little wolf. You are not so lost as I. You have your brother, his wife...and I certainly am going nowhere with this thrice-damned hole in my leg." He paused, tilting his head to the side, as though hoping something might pierce this melancholy. Anything would be better than this uncomfortable quiet. _Anything?  
_Sansa turned slowly to face him. She met his eyes, a smile splitting her lips, but there was no mirth in her eyes. She said sweetly, "Do you know what Robb told me? Hmm? No? Well, he told me that little Jeyne Westerling slipped into his bed the evening they defeated the Lannisters in the West. So, he took her instead of Walder Frey's girl. Robb decided Uncle Edmure would be a wonderful match instead, Lord of the Trident and all that."  
Corlen cleared his throat uncertainly. "Sansa, I-"  
"BE SILENT!" She screamed at him then, clenching her fingers and making fists that threatened to draw blood. "I am speaking!"  
She continued then, all soft smiles. "And of course, Mother wanted to be there for her brother's wedding. And you know what happened then, Ser?"  
He sighed. He knew where this must be going. _The poor child...  
"_WALDER _FUCKING _FREY had Uncle Edmure killed atop his bride, and his craven son's craven son's murderous spawn raped my mother and cut her throat when he was done!"  
Silence reigned, and for a moment she stood there, seething with rage and hate and grief. Finally, she fell forwards into his arms and began shaking as her sobs drew great, ragged breaths. He held her there for a moment, took her up in his arms and carried her through the door from his sitting room. He passed through an increasingly opulent hallway, and kicked open the wooden door to her bedchambers. He entered the well-lit room, candle-light shining off of his dagger. He set her upon the goose-feather filled mattress, and perched beside her. Sansa's hands curled into fists, clutching the silken sheets and buried her tears in their comfort.  
A long while later, when the candles had burned low, she looked up at him, and said, "Black Walder killed my mother."  
Corlen's face, hard as though it had been carved from granite, was grim as he replied, "His head is yours, Highness."

Robb rose as Ser Corlen barged into his solar. The man seemed to be carved from oak, his face was so unreadable. He bowed stiffly, and Robb acknolwedged this with a faint nod. "Perhaps you'd care to explain what you're doing here, uninvited as you are?"  
The knight met his gaze, and held it for a few moments before answering, "Your Grace. Her Highness has just shared with me the most fascinating of tales."  
Robb sighed heavily, before falling back into his chair. "I feared she might do something like this. How did she take it?"  
The man had the impudence to affix him with, of all things, a gaze of contempt. "She claims that the Lady Catelyn and Lord Edmure are dead because Your Grace could not keep your breeches laced."  
"You would question the actions of your sovereign, Ser? A hedge knight?" Damn the man and those eyes of his!  
He replied cooly, "I would know how I might best serve my Lady, and Your Grace's actions have her feeling quite distraught."  
Robb's voice turned sour, "Is that all you want, Ser? I've seen the way you look at her. And the way she looks right back." His voice was growing louder now, his eyes flaming, but he couldn't stop himself. "Did you take her, then, out there in the wilderness? Did you deflower my sister? That is, assuming she didn't spread her legs already for Jo-"  
He was cut off as a large hand came down hard across his face. He saw dark flecks pass across his eyes, and realized Austriman had backhanded him. He felt his own hand go to touch his now bright red cheek.  
Ser Corlen said in a quiet, deadly voice, "Your Grace would be well served to never insult Princess Sansa in my hearing again. Whatever I might feel...whatever she might think she feels...it can never be. She has not been dishonored so, and I shall see to it that she is not."  
Robb was quite flummoxed. On the one hand, the fellow had just struck his King, but he wasn't quite sure the knight had been wrong to do so. He saw now he'd been quite out of line. This man would likely be a better friend than foe. And that air of command...Robb had a feeling Ser Corlen was not being entirely honest. No hedge knight could have that expectation that comes from pivilege. He would have to ask Ser Wendel of this peculiar stranger. In the meantime... "Ser Corlen. You are correct. My conduct has been inexcusable. For that, I shall spare you the punishment for striking Your King." Which was death, of course, but Robb was sure he knew that much, at least. "For now, Ser, if you wish to serve my sister in the capacity you claim...perhaps you might do us both a service?"  
Austriman nodded, "It would be an honor, Your Grace. What would you have me do?"  
Robb smiled slightly and answered, "You and I are going to take the Twins, and the heads of both the Walders with them."

And that was how, four days later, he found himself riding north for the Western Twin, with all of the armies of the North and fully half the Tully bannermen with them. The others had remained at Riverrun or been sent to their various holds. He tugged a square of white silk from behind his belt, an elegant direwolf stitched in grey upon it, and tied it about the pommel of his sword. It was a gift from Sansa, a favour for his protection in the coming fight. He felt strange without his axe, though. Corlen had left it behind in his chambers in favor of a stout wooden shield with his sigil painted upon it. It had beeen a pleasant surprise to find it ready in time for their mass exodus from the keep. Still, he felt that the shield would serve him better, where he would be going.  
Every night, the army made camp, not even preparing a basic palisade to defend them. They would break camp before the dawn, and thusly they proceded for many days after.  
Corlen learned much of the progress of the war. The Kingslayer still rotted in Tully prisons, and his father was in the Crownlands, disposing of the last of Stannis' loyal troops. The army sworn to Renly Baratheon had fragmented after his death, the Stormlords either joining his elder brother or going rogue, and the Tyrells merely returned to the Reach. Nothing had been heard from Dorne, nor the Vale, though Lord Royce of Runestone expressed some willingness to support the Stark's cause. In the North, Roose Bolton's bastard son had driven off the raiding Ironmen, reclaiming a razed Winterfell and the other western castles. Theon Greyjoy had bbeen confirmed as slain, along with all the rest of the reavers; his head was mounted above Winterfell's curtain wall still.  
Stannis Baratheon had proclaimed himself as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and adopted the religion of the Red Priests from Asshai. His bannermen had sailed up the Blackwater, only to be destroyed through the implementation of wildfire and the timely arrival of Lord Tywin's forces. Still, much of the city had burned, the Goldcloaks quickly overrun.  
The Tyrells made no indication of who they would seek to align with, nor even if they would at all, remaining a thorn in the Lannister' side and forcing their greater hosts to remain in the Crownlands. The Ironmen, in turn, sought to impede Robb's efforts in all things; Seagard was subjected to a blockade by the Iron Fleet, though it had, thus far, made no attempt to take the port. The road to Winterfell remained open, thanks to a surprise assault upon the then Ironman controlled Moat Cailin by the Boltons' own men.  
All these things, and more, Corlen heard as he sat in the command tent when the lords gathered nightly to discuss their continued prosecution of the fighting. Despite all this new information, he couldn't help but let his thoughts wander, and eventually drift to his fiery Princess back in Riverrun. He prayed nightly that he might survive the coming days that he might return to her.

One evening, when they had made camp for the night, a pair of horsemen galloped into camp. One dismounted, and burst into the lords' council. He bent to converse quietly with the seated Greatjon, who barked a harsh laugh. "The Freys remain ignorant of our location. They are two hours quick-march from here. We can attack before dawn, and catch them with their breeches around their ankles!"  
Robb caught his gaze, and inquired, "You are certain of this?"  
Lord Umber nodded, "Aye, Your Grace. I am."  
Robb stood. A hush fell over the other lords, who all looked to him expectantly. "Then we will attack tonight. Tell the men to sleep. I mean to arrive before daybreak. We shall fill the Twins with blood and the bellies of its masters with steel. The North remembers."

Squatting just behind the crest of the low rise overlooking the Western Twin, Corlen turned to his King in askance, "Do we know for certain the old toad is there?"  
Robb shook his head, motioning for a group of men-at-arms from House Umber to lift the ram. "No. He was here, the last we saw him. He may very well be in the other keep. But, we have no time for that. We must take the west before the east."  
Corlen sighed, and eased his blade in its scabbard. _I'm sure you'll get your fill of blood today._ "When will you signal the assault?"  
The King answered, eyes desperately trying to make out shapes in the dark, "When Lord Glover's men are in position. Now, hand me the horn."  
Corlen complied, and when Robb caught the glimpse of a banner fluttering in the night, he hefted it to his lips, filled his lungs, and blew.  
Its sounding filled the air, a clear, sharp ringing. With an enormous bellow, Corlen charged with the Umber's men towards the gate, roaring, "For the North!"  
Stunned sentries, sluggish from the effects of their evening wine, struggled to locate their assailants. One man standing above the gates reached for his own horn to alert the keep, but was brought down as a flight of arrows sprang towards him, one catching him in the throat and bringing him to his knees, drowning in his own blood.  
He and the Umber's troops reached the gatehouse. It was constructed of smooth granite, though the gate itself was made of old oak. Raising his shield, he joined the men hefting the heavy ram in their thick arms. Each man was told to put one hand on the ram, the other being used to raise shields and protect themselves and their comrades from rocks, arrows, and other unpleasantness.  
Corlen roared out, "We charge on three. One!...Two!...Three!" The soldiers rushed forward, slamming the iron-bound ram into the wooden obstruction. Corlen could hear an audible crack as it struck the gate. The supports buckled, but held. They drew back, and Corlen began his count again. Once more, they blundered forward, and when they struck it the gate itself buckled inwardly, providing them with a glimpse of men furiously trying to brace the entry. From atop the wall, he heard a voice cry out, "Get the pitch!" Another thud and the splintering of wood caused another call, "And get some damn archers to kill those bastards!" One further crack. "In the name of all that is good, send aid to us! They're going to get inside!"  
Corlen laughed breathlessly, and looked at his men. One had been pierced by an arrow which managed to find a target, and had been carried out of range of the castle walls. Another had not raised his shield properly, and caught a heavy blow to the head by a large stone. He had yet to rise. Corlen himself was exhausted. The ram was heavy, and his still-healing leg was on fire. His shoulder would manage, but he hoped that he wouldn't have too man stairs to climb...  
Abandoning such thoughts, he shouted, "Northmen! Once more into the breach! Let's kill these Frey sons of whores!" The answering bellows too were winded, but savage. They drew back, well back from the gate, and in a mad rush struck the barred gates with such force that they were flung open, knocking back the Frey troops who had been bracing them, and actually carrying the Umbers, Corlen and the ram into the gatehouse. Immediately, the Northmen were fighting for their lives as they struggled with weary arms to unsheathe swords and engage the already armed Freys. A particularly large Umber warrior drew a warhammer and brought it down upon the head of the Freys' watch captain, squashing his head like a rotten tomato. The others, upon seeing the fate of their leader, had litttle stomach for fighting, andd were quickly dispatched, fled, or captured. A few of the Northmen had fallen, though most, if escorted back to camp, might live to see another day. The prisoners, were, per the directives of the lords, executed upon the spot. There would be no mercy for oath-breakers.  
With the gates secured, the rest of the Northern soldiers, having seen the prowess of the Umbers, flooded in to find their own glory. Corlen, however, set off in the direction of the Great Hall. With his orders fulfilled, he had but one more promise to deliver.

Outside, Robb, the Greatjon Umber, and Lords Bolton and Glover and Grey Wind, the King's direwolf all entered the gates, a path clearing around them as they walked among their men. Robb drew his blade, and said, "Come, my Lords. Lord Frey is expecting us."

Walder Frey, great-grandson of his namesake and fifth in line to the Twins, or Black Walder as many commonly referred to him, had been enjoying an early morning tumble with some maid or another. While he straddled her, a horn sounded in the night, along with a cry of "The North!" and "For the King!"  
He cursed, and rolled off of the girl, shoving her forcefully out of his furs and snarling, "Get out of here, bitch."  
The maid gladly complied, curtsying while she was bare as the day she'd been born, and scuttled through the door and was gone. Meanwhile, Black Walder dressed himself hastily, before taking up his sword and setting out for the great hall. Maybe he would get lucky and a couple of those brothers of his in line ahead of him would get themselves killed?

Corlen climbed through the fortress, ascending a narrow staircase with four or five of the remaining Umbers at his back. After interrogating a dying servant, he had a general idea of where it lay. He would have to pass through a secondary guard barracks and then a servant's corridor, which would take them to the main passage, which in turn led to Old Walder's throne.  
Corlen turned a corner, and was shocked. The barracks was empty. Everything was stowed away with no sign of a fight. He thought that perhaps the men had been sleeping, and gone to the walls when they'd been awoken? Or perhaps they were the ones on duty. No matter. The servant's entrance was ahead. He entered a small, poorly like corridor in which a number of terrified men and women cowered. Ignoring them, Corlen sprinted to a door at the far end. He opened it slowly, peering out. A number of dead men of the Twins and Northmen lay upon the ground. The Umber men-at-arms quietly filed out behind him, drawing their swords. Corlen joined them, and indicated a massive door beside them, "The Great Hall." He could hear voices on the other side. They charged as one and struck the door, swords at the ready. A three Frey men turned to face them and were each struck by one or two blades of Northern steel. Corlen peered about. Every eye in the hall was upon them. It seemed nearly every creature, save for Ser Stevron and Ser Ryman Frey, spawned by the old bastard was in attendance. Corlen stepped forward, and declared before the assembly, "I am Ser Corlen Austriman, champion of Princess Sansa Stark. Walder Frey, I proclaim you a murderer and a craven, and challenge you to face me in single combat."

The room was silent before a voice called out in the back of the room, "Well, which one?" That brought a nervous laugh from the Freys, though the Northmen were unamused.

Corlen answered, his eyes searching for his foe, "The one you call the Black."

Old Walder called from his throne, "You Northmen are all barbaric brutes, now, aren't you? I'll wager that you're all compensating for something, _heh_."

Corlen shifted his grip on his sword. "My king will have words with you later, Lord Frey. For now, I have a matter of honor to settle. I charge that your great-grandson did rape and murder in the most heinous fashion Lady Catelyn Stark, and I demand that he prove his innocence in the sight of gods and men by defeating me in combat...if he dares." There was a speculative murmuring sweeping through the old bastard's children. It sounded as though they were placing wagers on who would win between the two of them.

As he cast out his challenge, a man answered, "You want a fight, you big, dumb, Northern pig? Then let us fight." He stepped forward, clad in light chain and mail. This was, it seemed, Black Walder. "Prepare to die...Ser."

Old Walder called out, "Cut his throat. You don't have to shove your cock in him, though. _Heh_."

Corlen abandoned his shield and placed both hands upon the hilt of his bastard sword. He pressed his lips against the cloth fitted about it, and advanced.

They circled one another, each unwilling to step into the reach of the other. Finally, Corlen whipped out with his blade in a feint which was promptly redirected to cut at Walder's legs. He leaped backwards, avoiding the blow altogether. Clenching his jaw shut, Corlen thought, _I can't keep this up. Damn leg is on fire..._

His pain was evident as they continued walking about one another. His limp became pronounced, and Walder taunted, "Tired already, Northman? We haven't even started."

Corlen grunted, "Hardly. It's just that some of are more involved in the fighting than hiding behind our fathers' names." He lashed out, blade flashing towards Walder's throat. Once again, the bloody bastard stepped around it, and counter-attacked with a brutal under-handed cut which threatened to take his arm off. He stumbled back, avoiding it, but providing time for the Black to press his attack, raining down blows upon a defenseless Corlen. That cannot happen again. _But what if I allowed it to..?  
_  
An idea hit him like a train as they finally locked swords and Corlen threw him off with pure strength. Walder laughed, "Don't they teach the men to wield swords up there? Or is it so cold you freeze your cocks off too?"

Laughter filled the hall, from Fat Walda's obscene giggling and Lothar's braying to the old cunt's constant comments, and mind-rending '_heh_'.  
He saw only one option. Already he feared he might collapse on his own. He had to end it, and quickly. And so, as they circled once again, his leg buckled and he fell upon his back, his right leg, uninjured, bent. Walder laughed in triumph, and darted in for the kill-but something was wrong. He wasn't moving. He looked down to realize it had to do with the sword driven to the hilt in his chest. He tried to gasp for breath as Corlen pushed himself shakily to his feet. His bent leg had propelled him with such force that the blade had entered through bone and exited through bone. He leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "And so you are judged for your crime. I hope you burn in every one of the seven hells."

He tried to answer, but only blood trickled forth from between his lips. He fell over, dead at Corlen's feet. Corlen placed his good foot upon Walder's chest, and withdrew his blade, wiping it upon the dead man's tunic. He glanced up to see that he was no longer so outnumbered. Behind him, Robb, Greatjon Umber, and a number of soldiers had entered. The Greatjon bellowed a huge laugh, "That was a sight!"

Robb nodded, "Aye." But had eyes for only one man. He strode up to where Old Walder sat. "Your turn."

Walder Frey replied, eyes darting to either side nervously, "You don't want to, _heh_, fight me, do you?"

Robb shook his head. "No. I don't." He drew his sword, and drove it into the old man's heart. "I wanted to kill you."

A lesser son, perhaps a Rivers, emerged from the pack to hurl a knife at Robb's back. It took him in the shoulder, and he crumpled.  
The Greatjon roared in defiance and rage, running like a whirlwind to take his king into his arms. The men closed about him as he called out, "We are leaving this place! Protect the King!"

Corlen tried to join their ranks but found a number of previously inactive Frey men barring his way. The party left the hall as he tried to fight to them. But there were too many. He fell to his knees, and a heavy blow cracked against the back of his helm as more Frey guards poured into the room, and he collapsed. He was vaguely aware of being dragged away from the hall, only to find himself in a pleasantly upholstered room.

He realized his armor and even his sword were gone. He was lying beneath a clean linen blanket upon a narrow bed, just long enough for his tall, broad body. And, discussing such, he felt beneath the blankets to discover than he had been, yet again, undressed. _Damn them. Constantly stealing my clothing, of all things.  
_  
He pushed away the covers, and rose bare as a babe. Evidently he was not to be killed, being kept in such comfort, but as he glanced out of his chambers' window he saw the Twins' banner still flew here. The other fortress, he saw, had fallen. "How strange..."

A knock came at his door, and he glanced over his shoulder to see a maid carrying a tray holding what smelled much like a meal. She blushed as he smiled, perhaps at the sight of his naked backside. She curtsied and hurriedly exited the room, leaving him to his meal and his thoughts.

A short time later, another knock came at the door. Corlen called out, "Enter," and the door opened, revealing a pair of Freys with a decided lack of the Frey look to them. One, a man, most certainly a warrior, walked through the threshold before his companion, a woman. He inquired, almost out of the blue, "You are well?"  
Corlen answered as he brought a spoonful of pleasantly warm porridge to his mouth, "Aye, I suppose so."  
The seemed rather wary of him, and the woman, or perhaps girl, eyed him in a decidedly warm fashion. When he flashed her a brief smile, her cheeks flooded with crimson and her gaze dropped demurely to the floor. _Girl,_ Corlen decided. _Most certainly a girl._  
The man broke the silence. "I am Ser Perwyn Frey. This is my sister, Roslin. We-...Ser? What is wrong?"  
Corlen's jaw had fallen open, and his spoon clattered to the ground. "You...you are Roslin Frey?"  
The girl, surprisingly, met his gaze defiantly. "And, Ser? You take offense?"  
Corlen stated quietly, "Aye, I do. Your family murdered my king's uncle, my liege-lady's uncle, in your marriage bed." He rose slowly. "Why are you here? Do you mean to flaunt yourself so?"  
Ser Perwyn's hand when to his sword's hilt. "Ser. My sister played no part in that treachery. That foul plot was of my grandfather's making."  
"So you say...but what is the word of a Frey worth now?" Corlen's hands clenched into shaking fists. "Regardless of the boy's mistake, your people violated guest-right."  
Perwyn threw his hands into the air. "Do you think I do not know this? But attend me closely. I fought with you Northmen against the Lannisters. I hold your people in the highest esteem. But why do you think you yet live? It was Roslin's decision to preserve your life, Northman."  
Corlen turned his rather surprised attention to her. "And what compelled you to that action, my Lady? How long have I been in this bloody room, anyway?"  
She colored slighlty under his scrutiny. "Perwyn, leave us."  
He blinked, surprised. "Roslin, what are you-"  
She cut him off. "Not now, brother. Now be off with you."  
Perwyn eyed Corlen warily. "I don't trust him. Don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he exited from the room, back stiff.  
When he had finally done so, Roslin swayed over to the door, and shut it quickly. She latched the handle, and turned back to him. "Well, Ser, we are alone at last, it seems. You've been in these guest room for a little over a week, now. I had to order the maester to douse you with dreamwine, else...they might have thought you yet lived, whilst we transported you here."  
Corlen tugged his bathrobe tighter about himself. He was acutely aware that it was tailored for a considerably slighter and shorter person. "My Lady...Why did you spare me? I killed one of your kin...my king killed your father."  
"You seem to forget, Ser, who I am. Many believe I myself cut Lord Tully's throat, do they not?" She asked, her eyes ablaze.  
He shrugged. "Aye, I've heard the stories. Everything from that to a pair of men waiting in your bedchambers."  
Her eyes began to moisten, slightly. "I wanted no part of this. But Father...he gave me no choice. He ordered his men to kill Lord Tully as he entered our rooms." Her voice, slowly fading, steeled as her gaze returned to meet his. "But now, due to your...actions...Edwyn, Stevron's third son, rules the Twins. You would be dead, but I know that if any of us wish to survive, you will be the key to it. You have a certain reputation for heroic feats, Ser Corlen."  
He chuckles slightly and murmurs in reply, "Aye, I suppose I might at that. And what do they say, my Lady?"  
She curls a strand of her shining brown hair about a finger as she tilts her head to the side, eyeing him speculatively. "They say you cut down a dozen men and Kingsguard to rescue Sansa Stark. They say you challenged King Joffrey to a trial of combat, and instead of killing him, shamed him with such a crippling blow. And," she continued, her lips quirked into a bit of a smirk, "they say that as a reward for your gallantry, the Stark girl named you her champion and took you for a lover."  
At that, Corlen's face, if anything, grew harder. Finally he said, "You had best tell these...loose tongued contacts of yours that tales which dishonor Her Highness will not be long suffered by me."  
Roslin stared at his face for a long while and asked, "So. It is untrue. Though you wish it were not." She laughed at that. "How tragic. The knight and man any girl might adore, who rescues her from captivity, only to suffer silently by her side forever, never having that which he so desperately wants?" She perched upon the table in front of him, and one small hand went to rest upon his cheek. "Poor man..." She cooed, as her other pressed lightly upon his thigh.  
He looked at her in alarm. "I...I don't think this is a good idea." He stood up much too quickly, and found his head swimming. _That's not good._ He sat down heavily upon his upholstered bed. The diziness dissipated, but she now stood, watching him like a hawk. "Lady Roslin, I..."  
She climbed up onto the bed, straddling his knees. "You what, Ser? You don't find me attractive?"  
He blinked in confusion. _What was she getting at? _"I...surely you are a very pretty woman, but..."  
"But what?" She unlaced the top of her bodice. "Surely you haven't lost anything...well, important in your battles? Or have you?" That little hand slipped beneath the edge of his robe, and squeezed the tip of him gently. Her lips released a small "_Ooh" _and she grinned at him impishly. "Oh, Ser, I dare say you carry an impressive weapon even when unarmed."  
"Stop that! I don't want-" He trailed off. He didn't, did he? A remarkably pretty noblewoman climbing all over him, and who understood what she wanted. _Not a child._ But...he had sworn his life and honor to Sansa, hadn't he?  
"You don't, do you? I think this begs to differ..." Her hand slid along his length then, hand gripping his hardening member gently. "You want this so much, don't you, Ser?"  
"No, I..well...I...I love her." He closed his eyes, and all he could see was that shy smile, those blue eyes, that excitingly red hair.  
"And she orders you to kill for her. She is a petulant child, who couldn't possibly value such a wonderful specimen for what he is..." That little hand stroking him to hardness began to feel far too wonderfully delightful.  
"I..."  
"She uses you, Corlen. She could not possibly love you. Not like I would..." As that other hand now dipped out of sight, and he felt his robe being pulled away to reveal his hard body, he wondered if he could have been wrong. _Sansa is j__ust a girl, Corlen, you fool. And a Princess, to boot. Thre is no future for you there. _  
He found his own hands drawn to her dress, pulling it away to reveal a firm, pert bosom, and as he rolled atop her, placing his thick head against her tight entrance, he found her body intoxicating. He had to have her. He entered her slowly, and as she murmured endearments in his ear, all thoughts of his fiery-haired and firey-hearted Princess fled his mind.


	9. Chapter 8

**AN: **Hey everyone. I know it has been a while since my last update. Sorry about that! But, things with school and athletic training have gotten kind of crazy. I expect in the next couple weeks to begin wrapping up this story. It was a bit of a trial run for me, being my first story here. I do look forward to starting a whole new story pretty soon. But, without any further nonsense from me, here it is.

Chapter Eight

_A boy sat beside a man among the trees. They huddled about a small fire as they clutched their furs tighter about them. The boy asked, "Father, how much longer must we stay out here? It is so cold..."_

_His father answered in a weary voice, "When you can answer my question, son, then we will return to Hearthglow, and not a moment before."_

_The child sighed, and brought heavily gloved hands near the flame. "You asked which bonds are more important: love, honor, or duty."_

_"Aye," replied the man. He pulled his hood back so to look the boy in his eyes. "It is perhaps the most crucial choice a man must make. You will be faced with a decision, my boy, and when you are, you will have to choose among the three."_

_His son shivered as a particularly sharp gust of wind blew between them, snuffing out the flames, "Father, the fire..."_

_"Damn it all, Corlen! You are my heir, and I will not have you sniveling like a child. Your choices will be wrought with agony. But, regardless, you must decide!"_

_The boy, Corlen, sat there for a long time. Finally, he asked his father, "Which did you choose?"_

_Corlen looked to his father's face, which, to the boy's surprise, had grown softer, the misery of an old loss darkening his eyes. "I was young and naive, once. I loved a girl who was a chambermaid and far below my station. My marriage with your mother, though...it was what would be best for our family."_

_He paused, and then said bitterly, "I chose my duty over my heart. I fear I shall regret it until the end of my days. And so, son, you must do what your heart believes is best."_

* * *

The army had been gone for a single week when Sansa simply could not take it anymore. She was tired of being angry, tired of feeling miserable, and so desperately weary of hating Robb for what he had done. As she lay upon her bed staring up at the blank surface of the ceiling, Sansa realized what it was that upset her the most. Her father, mother, brothers, and, as far as she knew, sister were dead. It was inescapable. But, what she had continued to miss was that Corlen had been right. _The gods give, and the gods take away._ All she could do was love Robb even more fiercely, and embrace Jeyne Westerling with open arms. Hating her brother's wife would make nothing better for any of them. She could not bring back those gone, but she could look to those still there. She could accept this. However, there was something that she could change, must change. She had treated Corlen so poorly. He had offered comfort, but Sansa had instead cursed him and unleashed her pent-up fury upon him, and then ordered him to go execute a man in her name. A nagging thought could not help but slip into her mind, and it refused to leave. She couldn't help but worry that maybe he had been wounded again protecting her, or that maybe he'd died? She hasn't even let him heal, perhaps that had been the difference between life and death.

With such concerns in her head already, the absence of a raven for a full week after one should have come drove her nearly insane. And so, on the eighth day after the Northmen and their departure, Sansa decided she'd waited long enough. With a small escort of Tully men-at-arms, she set off for the Twins.

Her party covered ground swiftly and their progress was evident as they trotted along in the muddy quagmire formed in the trail of the Northern host. As she rode through the Riverlands, Sansa could not help but feel the occasional pang for the destruction wrought upon the land by the Lannisters. The Trident's once lovely flora more often than not was a trampled, burnt or uprooted mess.

These observations aside, with every passing hour a tight knot of worry hardened in her stomach. _Is he even still alive?_ Sansa had no idea which he she meant, either.

Late in the fourth day of their journey, Sansa and her escort came within sight of the Twins. When she saw the white direwolf on a field of gray flying from the western fortress' ramparts, she let loose a heavy sigh of relief. With this assurance, Sansa booted her mare into a gallop, hooves pounding into the turf. As she drew nearer, she could see a number of heads decorating the curtain wall and gatehouse. _The North remembers, after all._ It was when she had almost reached the hastily constructed wooden barricade that a man called out, "Highness! You honor us with your presence!"

Sansa frowned, and looked about only to see the Master of Deepwood Motte grinning down at her from atop the ramparts.

She returned his greeting with a smile, and raised her voice to reply, "The honor is mine, Lord Glover. It seems that our enemies have been defeated once again thanks to the efforts of valiant and loyal men like you."

Glover chuckled at that, "As you say, Highness. It should be noted that His Grace did bring justice to the oath-breaker himself."

A vindictive grin spread across Sansa's face. "And where is my victorious brother now, Lord Glover?" She inquired of him.

"His Grace is currently in the great hall, with the rest of the lords bannermen. I shall be down in a moment to escort you," he responded. A few moments later, the flimsy barricade had been removed, and Robett Glover offered Sansa his arm. She accepted it gratefully, and the two set off.

A few minutes later, after passing through a number of increasingly warren-like corridors, Lord Glover announced that they had arrived. Disentangling his arm, he shoved open the large door to the hall before announcing, "Your Grace. Her Highness, the Princess Sansa."

A number of heads turned to face the newcomers, and Sansa's cheeks reddened slightly under his scrutiny. Robb pushed himself out of the late Lord Frey's seat, wincing as he did so. His arm sat in a sling, and bandages covered the left shoulder. His face brightened at the sight of her, a beaming smile on that Tully face of his before stating in a loud voice, "The Maester instructed me to keep from using the arm, or moving it much at all. But I think he would make an exception for this," and he spread his arms wide.

Sansa practically flew to him, throwing herself into Robb's embrace. After a few moments the Greatjon roared, "Your Grace! We do have another siege to plan!"

Robb reluctantly let his sister go, but murmured in her ear, "Later, we will talk." He gave her hand a parting squeeze, and returned his attention to the gathered lords. "Aye. And we'll finish off the rest of the traitorous bastards!"

As Sansa sat in front of the hearth in slightly less opulent rooms than she was used to, she heard a knock at the door. She adjusted the towel about her head, which was still damp from a most satisfying bath, and rose. Pulling gently upon the handle, Sansa opened the door to find Robb standing in the entryway. He looked every bit the King with his crown of copper and iron and small contingent of men in Stark colors in the hallway behind him. As he stood in the entryway, he said quietly, "Sister. Might I join you?"

Sansa smiled in reply, and dipped in a tiny curtsy. "Certainly, Your Grace."

Robb stepped into her apartments with a spry step and slid the door shut behind him. He took a seat, and indicated for Sansa to do the same. As he did so, a frown appeared on his face. Very seriously, he demanded, "Sansa, what are you doing here? You shouldn't have come. Damn it all, you could have been killed! I could not bear to lose you too."

The fire flared in Sansa's eyes. "I could have been killed? What is this, you great buffoon?" She gestured towards his bandaged shoulder. "Am I to believe that a passing bull had gored you or some similar story?"

Robb snorted at its absurdity. Then he laughed. "I suppose not. Though, it would have been a bull who should be ashamed of its accuracy."

Sansa tried to stay angry with him, but...she found she simply couldn't. Finally, she simply dissolved into giggles. After recovering her composure, she inquired playfully, "Now, I do believe there are _two_ castles that need to be taken, are there not?"

Robb grinned, "Oh and we will, sister. But not yet. You see, we haven't yet gotten rid of every Frey. While I accounted for the old bastard himself, and your pet knight ended the Black, there are still-"

Sansa cut him off, peering straight into his eyes and exclaiming, "Corlen? He did it? Well, where is he?"

Robb sighed, and murmured, "I think it would be best if you took a seat."

Sansa did so, and a look of horror crossed her face. "Gods. He's not...I mean, surely he still..." She couldn't say it. Corlen wasn't dead. He couldn't be.

Robb raised his hands soothingly. "You mistake me. He, Ser Wendel Manderly, and a number of our men-at-arms were taken prisoner and are being held in the Eastern Twin. We have as yet made no attempt to parley, though we've gathered from the sentries' talk that they remain unharmed."

Sansa's face darkened. "It's been nearly two weeks and you've let him...them remain imprisoned for this long?"

Robb sighed, and answered, "Aye. The Greatjon and Roose Bolton are in favor of simply hammering down the gates once more and putting every living thing to the sword. But as Lord Glover pointed out, they would simply execute their prisoners. This is something Lord Manderly would not tolerate, as both his sons would have died in my name." He paused, before concluding, "And so, sister, we must recover Ser Wendel. The others as well, but he must be our priority. As such, you and I and my lords bannermen shall seek parley with them."

Sansa nodded tightly, "Will they let me see him?"

Robb frowned. "Aye, if the Freys know what is best for them, they will."

Sansa hazarded a hopeful smile. "Good. I will see you in the morning, then," she said, her tone indicative of dismissal as she rose.

Robb's face adopted a pained look. "Sansa, please. What happened to Uncle Edmure, and Mother-"

Sansa pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "What is done is done. You could not have known what Walder Frey would do, that he would commit such a monstrous act…"She sighed, wrapping her arms about him tightly. "I can only be grateful you weren't there too."

Robb smiled sadly, and hugged his sister in return. They stood there for a long time by the fire, the last Starks in Westeros. Sansa drew back, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You should rest. You've another Frey to depose tomorrow," she said with a wink.

Her brother chuckled, ran a hand through her auburn tresses so like in color to his own, and bid her good night.

When Robb was gone, she sat at the foot of her bed for a good long while, praying to the gods old and new that she would not lose anyone else come the morrow. At last, as the wee hours of the morning approached, she fell into a restless slumber, plagued by nightmares of a wounded and dying Corlen, slowly being tortured to death by merciless Frey captors.

When Sansa awoke, dawn had come and sunlight was peeking in through the narrow slits in the walls of her bedchambers that could be described as windows. She hurriedly dressed herself in an elegant yet simple dress of Tully blue and red, before descending the stairs to the hall where Robb, the Lords Umber, Glover, Bolton, and a number of others already waited. She entered accompanied by the approving smiles of the men, though none dared go further than smile. When Sansa sat beside Robb and refused any offer of refreshment or food to break her fast, her brother offered her a small grin at her obvious haste to meet with the Freys. A few minutes later, Robb stood and announced, "My Lords. We will, in half an hour's time, announce our intent to parley. Lord Umber, Lord Bolton-you two shall accompany me, as shall Her Highness."

The Greatjon grinned savagely, "And if any of those sons of whores attempts treachery, I shall tear out their innards with mine own fists."

Roose Bolton simply regarded Robb with that icy gaze of his, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

Taking this as affirmation, Robb turned to Sansa and murmured, "We shall see about recovering your champion, sister."

Sansa colored, a light shade of pink, but nodded briskly. "Good."

Several minutes later, the four departed the feasting hall, escorted by several men clad in a mixture of Stark, Umber, and Bolton colors. When they emerged from the upper gates and crossed the bridge for the Eastern Twin, a banner with the direwolf fluttered overhead, with a smaller flayed man and giant blowing just below it, all three borne by warriors of their respective Houses. Robb looked magnificent, injury and all as he stood upright, clad in plate and mail. Sansa walked alongside him, wearing a gown in the Stark colors. The Starks were flanked by the Greatjon to their right and Roose Bolton to the left. As they reached the center of the bridge, the gates at the far end opened. A small party emerged, similarly accompanied by men-at-arms, though these in the livery of House Frey. Sansa's mouth tightened at the sight of the Twins upon their chests, and her little hands knotted into fists. Managing to retain her calm, she instead chose to study those clearly not soldiers. There was one man striding out before them all, clearly in command. Behind him walked another, who was armed and looked like he knew how to use what he had. Then there was the woman. She was very slight, and appeared as though she were older than Sansa. She positively glowed. Her hair was brown, and her face, a decidedly pretty one, possessed a small, satisfied smile. But Sansa had eyes for only one person. At the woman's side towered a veritable giant of a man whose enormous shoulders, firm jaw, and steely eyes she'd come to...what did she feel? _Appreciate? Love?_ _Yes,_ she thought. _Most certainly love._

She'd not thought to be staring, but a voice jerked her out of her trance. "Sansa?"

She turned. It was Robb. "Yes, Your Grace?"

He was eyeing her strangely. "Are you quite all right?"

Sansa nodded quickly, answering, "Yes, I was just…observing your foes." Her cheeks flooded with color. "It is good to see Ser Corlen unharmed, though, is it not?"

Robb tilted his head to the side before nodding cautiously. "Aye…I suppose it is." Before he had the chance to pursue the subject further, the Frey in the lead shouted, "Perhaps His Grace would treat with me?"

Robb returned his attention to the Frey, and called out, "Aye. He would. And you are..?"

The Frey man offered a tiny bow. "I forget myself. I am Edwyn Frey, Lord of the Crossing. Welcome to my humble home," he said without any trace of amusement in his voice.

Robb blinked. "You would be Ser Stevron's what…fourth son, then?"

Edwyn Frey scowled, "Third, actually. But that is of no import, Your Grace. What does matter is the fact that there are 18,000 hairy Northmen squatting in my keep."

Roose Bolton murmured, "I think Lord Frey has forgotten that those same 18,000 Northmen say it is not _his_ keep." The Greatjon let out a booming laugh at that.

"Your Grace. My Lord Father made many mistakes, the greatest of which, obviously, was betraying you," Edwyn said, nearly having to bite his cheek. "I would not make the same error. You have already claimed the lives of those who murdered your mother and the other Northerners. We have no desire for further bloodshed."

Robb raised an eyebrow. "Aye? You wish to serve me once more, now that I've kicked in your gates ?"

"THOSE WHORESONS MURDERED MY JON! I WANT JUSTICE!" roared the Greatjon Umber. He was livid. Veins stood out from his massively thick neck, and he looked as though he might pounce on Frey right then and there had not Lord Bolton stepped deftly in front of him and calmed him down, somehow.

Robb turned to him and said sharply, "Enough, Lord Umber. You shall have it. But I would hear what Lord Frey has to say." He returned his attention to Edwyn and inquired, "You say you would obey me, and serve faithfully. What guarantee would I have of your loyalty? Your people have already broken guest-right."

Edwyn waved a hand, and Ser Corlen trudged forward, with, to Sansa's shock, that same Frey woman clutching his arm. Her lips mouthed the word, "_No._"

Corlen strode forward before bowing to Robb. "Your Grace," was all he said.

Edwyn Frey smirked slightly. "I believe you are familiar with Ser Corlen, Your Grace?"

Robb nodded slowly, "Aye. I am. And it is good to see he has been well-treated."

Sansa's fingers clenched and unclenched rapidly. _Who is that whore on his arm?!_

Ser Corlen carefully withdrew his arm from the woman's, and stepped closer to Robb. He glanced back at Lord Frey. "Might I speak with my king?"

Edwyn nodded dismissively. Corlen turned once more to Robb, and murmured something Sansa could not hear. This apparently surprised Robb, who coughed and replied in that same hushed tone. After a few moments of furious discussion, Robb said loudly, "I shall accept the fealty of House Frey once more. Ser Perwyn, I will accept your pledge as binding to your House."

Edwyn Frey blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "Your Grace, as Lord of the Crossing, should I not deliver the oath?"

Robb's answering grin was so fierce, so savage, Edwyn's knees shook. "That's the thing. Ser Perwyn here is the new Lord of the Crossing. I'm afraid, Edwyn Frey, that...well...Lord Umber, you mentioned something about justice?"

The Greatjon drew his blade, and advanced on a helpless Edwyn Frey slowly. His target backed right into Ser- no, _Lord_ Perwyn, and was forcefully shoved forwards to meet his fate. The enormous Northman kicked the former Lord Frey in the stomach, and pushed him to his knees. "I, Jon of House Umber, Lord of Last Hearth, sentence you to die for your treason and that of your house in the name of Robb Stark, King in the North." His sword swept downwards in a brutal arc, and cut cleanly through Edwyn's neck. His head rolled to the edge of the bridge, and fell into the river below. Lord Umber kicked the headless corpse once more before murmuring, "For you, my boy."

Sansa clutched her hands to her stomach, and tried to avoid looking at the decapitated body, which was still leaking blood from the stump of its neck.

* * *

Corlen felt sick. He knew what he had done was shameful. He was a weak, pathetic thing. _You'll fuck anything with a cunt and a pulse, won't you? _Of course, he hadn't come to this realization for a day or so, after a number of hours spent buried to the hilt inside of Roslin Frey. But he couldn't bring himself to feel that the fact he had slept with her, and multiple times, was his mistake. Rather, he could not shake the feeling that in doing so, he had betrayed his little Tully Princess. This was obviously ridiculous, as Sansa had made it plain that he was just a tool to strike down her enemies, and that she was a little girl. He knew this. He did. _But then why do I feel like I've perpetrated some great crime? _Was it possible he truly…well…loved her?

What he felt for Roslin was certainly not love, however, or really even affection. Corlen had thought that she was a sweet, innocent girl manipulated by her father, but the next day revealed what a cunning bitch she really was. He had heard a noise, and awoke to see Roslin creeping out of his chambers. Corlen had quickly shrugged into his thin robe and trailed her down the corridor, taking care to stay well behind her. After a few minutes of pursuing the Frey girl down a number of winding passages, she stopped in a small alcove. Corlen paused further back along the hallway, though the stone walls ensured the sound would carry quite easily.

A short time later, another figure emerged from the opposite end. It too turned off into the alcove as well, and inquired in a soft voice, "Roslin?" _Perwyn's voice,_ thought Corlen.

She answered with a murmured, "It's me, Perwyn." She stretched out her hand to squeeze his.

Perwyn cleared his throat and inquired, "So. The Northman. What of him?"

Roslin giggled girlishly, before replying, "I have him in the palm of my hand…he's just a poor, sad brute." Her tone deepened, becoming slightly more…sultry. "With the right…encouragement…he will do whatever we require of him."

Perwyn chuckled at that. "I imagine the Young Wolf will seek parley soon. When he does, Edwyn will certainly ride out to meet them. I will ensure that we and the Northman accompany him. If all goes well, we will control the Twins before the week's end."

"I must go. It would not do for the oaf to see that I'm out and about," Roslin teased.

Perwyn frowned at that. "I've been meaning to ask…what will we do with the fellow, anyway? Do you intend to take him for a husband?"

After a short snort, she answered, "Hardly. The man's far too conflicted to do us any good beyond ensuring our survival against the Starks. No, I believe that he will remain here as our Castellan. He can suffer an unfortunate accident in a few months."

With that, she bade farewell to her brother. Corlen spun and swiftly retraced his steps, and reached his rooms. Shutting the door gently behind him, he leapt into his bed and shut his eyes. _Unarmed, outnumbered, and altogether alone. Just bloody wonderful, Austriman._ Still, her talk of marriages and betrayals gave him a slight inkling of an idea. He would just have to act the fool and feign ignorance when she confronted him in the morning. He would wait and, gods willing, would see his Princess again.

A few days later, a horn announced that the Northmen wanted to talk. He joined the siblings, Lord Edwyn, and a number of men-at-arms at the gates. Roslin slipped her arms through his and licked her lips at him suggestively. He smiled back and offered her a wink. _I can see right through you, wench. _

After Edwyn's gruesome execution at the hands of the Greatjon, Corlen's eyes sought out Sansa. She was standing beside her brother, and his breath caught. Her hair, those lovely, flowing auburn tresses that he so desperately wanted to run his hands through and simply inhale the scent of rested upon her shoulders. A stray lock brushed across her cheek, and he was gripped by the mad urge to simply go to her and brush it back into place. Instead, he simply stood there, staring. _Those eyes._ After a moment, he felt an insistent poking against his side. He looked to see a rather displeased Roslin nudging him with her elbow. He sighed, and reluctantly tore his gaze from his favorite Stark.

Robb once more claimed the attention of the two parties. "Ser Perwyn Frey, I name you Perwyn Frey, Lord of the Eastern Twin. You shall hold it in my name," he declared.

The now Lord Perwyn seemed awfully confused. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I believe you have misspoken. Surely you meant that I would be Lord of the _Crossing_?"

"Hardly. I mean what I say. One of my uncle's former bannermen will hold the western fortress," Robb growled, "and unless you'd like to bring your objections to Lord Umber, I'd suggest you remain silent."

Perwyn held his composure, taking it all in stride. "Of course, Your Grace. As always, we are happy to serve." He turned to his sister. "Your Grace, if you'd allow me, I'd like to introduce my sister, Lady Roslin."

Roslin dutifully blushed and dipped into a tiny curtsy. "Your Grace," she murmured breathlessly, "it is an honor." _All show,_ said a wry voice in Corlen's thoughts.

Robb seemed to ignore her for the moment, but Sansa certainly didn't. It seemed to Corlen that all she had done since they'd arrived was glare at Roslin, and to be perfectly frank, Corlen thought he might too. But, for the nonce, he was still in the Freys' keeping. As if to remind him of this, Roslin's hand slipped over his thigh and squeezed him playfully. There was a teasing light in her eyes, and Corlen winced. He was sure the others must have seen that…

And they had. Bolton, aloof as ever, seemed not really to care one way or the other. The Greatjon and Robb shared knowing looks, and Sansa..._Oh Gods. _Her face had gone pale as a sheet. He had expected her to scream, or perhaps slap Roslin silly, but instead she turned to her brother, excused herself, and swept back to the gates of the Western Twin. Now hardly heeding the odd looks he was receiving, Corlen called out, "Sansa, wait! It's not what it looks like!"

It was too late. She'd already entered the gates, which slammed shut behind her with a resounding boom. He turned back to see Lord Umber guffawing, and Robb simply staring at him with an unreadable look. Roslin came over to him to put an arm about his shoulders, but Corlen decided he'd had enough. He pushed her away and snarled, "Enough! Don't say anything. I'm through with you and your charades."

Roslin blinked in surprise, before saying in a soothing tone, "Corlen, darling, you must be ill! I would never do anything to-"

He cut her off. "I heard you with your brother. How I could expect an 'accident'. Well, I'm certain there is any number of lords who will break you of such poor habits in the future."

Her mouth moved, but words beyond sounds failed to form. "Wha…I…"

Corlen laughed, "Oh, aye. I do thank you for your hospitality, but I've a Princess to rescue from doing something foolish." With that, after a perfunctory bow to his king, he tromped along the bridge, sprinting for the gate.

He heard Robb say behind him, "Now, about Ser Wendel and the others…I shall need them unharmed and presented within the hour, or I believe the Greatjon might need to avail himself of another of your kin."

As his boots pounded down the corridors, he accosted every servant he encountered as to where their Princess was. One fellow he actually shook by the scruff of the neck until, in tears, he explained he had never seen the girl. Finally, when he reached the lower gates, a guard explained to him, "Her Highness left a short while ago. Her escort rode with her, bound for Riverrun. It was rather odd, now that you mention it."

Corlen's heart skipped a beat. _Too late. Anything could happen out there._

* * *

Sansa's mind was roiling. _That hairy brute! Leads with his cock everywhere he goes, does he? Did he ever even care for me?_ Tears streamed down her cheeks as she galloped ahead of the men accompanying her, much to their dismay. They struggled to keep up, but her grief-driven state gave her an unnatural speed.

What did she want from him, anyway? It was not as if he'd promised anything to her other than his protection. And he was not nearly well-born enough for her to consider as a suitor, so she clearly couldn't want him, or feel anything remotely like love. _Is that so? You know you want to be in that Frey slut's place._ Her face burning, Sansa shut out thoughts like that. For now, she would ride.

As her mount clopped down a hill a few hours later, she found that her escort was no longer with her. This was not good. As she craned her neck to look around her, she yanked back on the reins to listen. After a few moments, she heard the beating of hooves in the distance. An embarrassed smile on her face, she booted her mount to meet her men.

As the approaching horsemen rode into sight, Sansa felt as though she had been made to swallow a rock. There were a small group of knights in red and gold, with a golden-haired man leading them. He called out to her, "Lady Stark! I am Kevan Lannister. I would ask that you not struggle and come with us. Your men are unharmed, as yet, and I would not like to be forced to lay hands upon you." What he did not say but was quite clear was that he '_would__ if he had to'._

As Kevan came closer, he bowed low in his saddle. "Lady Stark. The King grew quite concerned. It is good to see you in good health. He, as well as most of the court, have come north to watch his grandfather free his uncle and kill the Young Wolf." He leaned closer, and whispered so that the knights might not hear. "Were I you, child, I would consider these to be my last days. Assaulting the person of the King and attempting to murder him is no forgivable offense. You will be able to rest easy knowing that, once justice has been done, you brother will soon follow you."

Sansa began to sob. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to have her knight with her again.


	10. Chapter 9

**ravenclaws66: **I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the story so far! Always happy to hear from someone who has been reading for a while. And fear not, I have not forsaken it, either. I expect my updates will grow more frequent until I've finished.

Speaking of which, here's Chapter 9.

Chapter Nine

When Sansa had first laid eyes upon the tent city of the assembled armies of the North and the Riverlands, she had thought it to be perhaps the grandest thing she had ever seen. However, the sight of the Lannisters' nearly 60,000 men supplemented with levies from the Crownlands was enough to bring her jaw crashing down. Red and gold banners fluttered everywhere, and a lone Baratheon stag marking the royal pavilion stood in the center of the camp. _And so I will return to the lion's den, _thought Sansa. Kevan Lannister, Lord Tywin's rather unnoticed brother and Sansa's erstwhile captor, leaned in to murmur in her ear, "My Lady. You should know that, whilst your brother's armies were away, Riverrun had fallen."

Sansa's face turned pale. "I…I see." She did not trust herself to speak.

Kevan continued, "It seems that your great-uncle the Blackfish and your brother's young bride were not among those captured. His Grace expressed a very great interest to meet the Young Wolf's queen." He paused, as if considering something before he added, "I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that Ser Jaime was liberated from his own imprisonment. It seems the Tullys were keeping him locked in a dungeon fit for common criminals!"

Sansa struggled to contain herself. She wasn't sure if to shout for joy that Ser Brynden and Jeyne had escaped, or be terrified that the Kingslayer was now loose. She decided that she should be grateful for the little blessings. Sansa was under no illusions of what a twisted little bastard like Joff would do to a sweet girl like Jeyne. However, that did not help _her _much, as she was being taken in that direction very quickly.

As Sansa and her forcibly imposed escort made their way through the shallow ruts serving as a road, Lannister men stopped to stare. When one called out something about "Northern Whore", the jeers kept flying. At one point, Ser Kevan himself had to reprimand one soldier who reached out for the reins and demanded to know how much he would have to pay for an hour with her.

After enduring torrents of this verbal abuse, Sansa was almost glad to have reached the pavilion, despite the fact that once inside, Joff would surely want to pass judgment upon her. The party paused at the wide flaps serving as the entrance. Ser Kevan, as formal as ever, offered a tiny bow from his saddle and held the sturdy cloth aside for her. Sansa dismounted smoothly, curtsied in return, and ducked inside. She would be brave.

As she entered, she heard Lord Tywin's very distinctive voice state, "Your Grace. I've received word that Robb Stark and his bannermen have turned south from the Twins and are marching to meet us. I doubt they will appreciate the fact that Riverrun has been taken. With your permission, I shall lead your armies to meet them in the field."

"I should expect nothing less, Grandfather," came a familiar, drawling sound. Joffrey. "And when you do, please do try to avoid being captured like Uncle Jaime was last time." At that, a gentle tittering came from the gathered lords and ladies of the court. Sansa was more than a little surprised at the number, but then again, Joffrey certainly loved the attention.

The Kingslayer, it seemed, was also in attendance. He stood to the boy-king's right as the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard should. _A rather depleted Kingsguard since Corlen last visited, _Sansa thought with mild amusement.

A number of minor lords and hedge knights came forward with pleas, to ask a boon or to swear themselves to the service of the Crown: a very routine practice in open court. At that, Ser Kevan left her side. Sansa hardly noticed-at least, until she saw Ser Kevan approach Joffrey's side and murmur something in his ear. This something caused Joffrey to perk up considerably, and a hideous smirk grew upon his face, despite his obvious discomfort at resting upon only one arm. Finally, he pushed himself up with one hand and declared, "I will be hearing no more pleas today. However, I am prepared to hold a trial." He turned his head slightly to fix her with a glare of pure hate. "Sansa Stark. Come forward."

Sansa clenched her hands tightly into her skirts, and approached the dais upon which he was seated. She met his gaze, letting him feel her icy contempt.

Lord Tywin, as Hand of the King, rose too and said, "Lady Stark. You are accused of conspiring to murder His Grace, and of committing high treason." There was a quiet disturbance among the men crowding the back of the pavilion, near the entrance. Lord Tywin paid this no mind, however. "How do you respond to your accusations?"

Sansa, her back rigid as a washboard, began to answer him, "I-"

A shouted, "Seven hells!" cut her off. As she turned to the source of the commotion, she saw nine slits in the wall of the pavilion open, and enormous men step through them. She saw the sigil of House Umber upon each of their chests, every warrior wielding a greatsword. Many Lannister men-at-arms drew swords and moved to intercept the northern warriors, but as many or more fled or remained still at the risk of being cut down out of hand. However, a sort of giddiness came over her. Clearly, the camp had not been attacked en masse, and she knew of only one man brave or mad enough to chase after her into the lion's den. She turned her gaze to the actual entrance to the pavilion, and her cheeks turned a rosy pink when she saw him striding purposefully towards her. He only carried his war axe at his hip, and was oddly enough armored only by a thick boiled leather vest. A tabard with the sigil of House Austriman upon a field of the White Harbor teal was draped over his chest and back. The moment he saw her, that boding, austere face of his lit up and broke into a broad grin. He trotted towards her, seemingly heedless of those in red and gold livery about him.

When he reached her, he bent on one knee and murmured, "Highness. I believe that you might be in need of my services."

Sansa could not help but giggle at that. She smacked him playfully upon the shoulder, and carried on as though they were alone and not surrounded by their enemies. "You're late."

Corlen nodded. "Aye. I was slowed some by procuring these fine gentlemen with me." His voice turned serious once more, and he whispered, "Sansa. I'm sorry. I…"

She cut him off, pressing one finger to his lips. She mouthed one word. "Don't."

A shy smile crept across Corlen's face. Sansa thought she'd never seen anything quite so lovely as that.

But then Joffrey, as he had so many other times, decided to ruin the moment. He called down from his seat, "Men! Arrest these Northerner savages! And bring me the ugly one!"

Corlen rose immediately, hand whipping his axe out from behind his belt. "Your Grace. It's been a little while. I trust your wounds have healed well?"

Joffrey's face turned purple with rage, and he began screaming, "Kill him! A Lordship for whoever brings me his head!"

The Umber men, following this exchange, flanked Corlen and formed a protective wedge around Sansa. Corlen called out gaily, "What? No trial?"

Things were getting out of hand, and quickly. Tywin was on his feet again in a flash and commanded his men to stand down in a thunderous voice. Then, he turned to the Northmen. "Indeed. We were trying Lady Stark for her role in the attempt of the King's life. And I believe His Grace was going to pass sentence."

Joffrey's rage abruptly turned into a twisted pleasure as he realized what his grandfather was doing. His toadlike smile was sickening. "Yes. And as for sentencing…"

Corlen stepped forward, raising a hand to silence him. "Lady Stark demands a trial by combat. I will be her champion." This brought a roar of approval from the Umber men-at-arms, and a general interest among the assembled nobility.

Tywin's jaw twitched, but just slightly. "That is Lady Stark's right."

"Will His Grace elect to fight me himself? Or will the Crown name a champion as well?" Inquired Corlen, winking at Joffrey impudently. Joff simply huffed, too indignant to answer, and attempted to cross his arms like a petulant child before he realized he did not, in fact, have two arms to cross.

Lord Tywin once again intervened. "Ser Gregor Clegane will champion His Grace."

Corlen frowned, and Sansa could not help but agonize, now. She knew her Northman was good with a blade, and remarkably so, but to face the Mountain That Rides…

Corlen folded arms thick with muscle across his chest. "I am prepared to meet Ser Gregor whenever he has readied himself to see his ancestors once more." A number of the assembled ladies tittered at such brazen confidence, and not a few of the Lannister men spat contemptuously on the ground in the wake of this Northern upstart.

Lord Tywin blinked at this, but ultimately let it go. Instead he stated, "Ser Gregor will be waiting for you in the practice yard. Lady Stark will be escorted there as well, so there will be no ill-fated escape attempt."

Ser Mandon Moore and Preston Greenfield stepped forward to retrieve her, but Corlen waved them away for a moment. He smiled down at his little Princess, and she returned it warmly. Sansa's head leaned forward against the hard plane of his chest, and her hands clutched at his thick upper arms. She looked up at him, unshed tears in her eyes. "Corlen, please. Whatever you do, just…be careful. I could not stand it if you were to die, especially at the hands of a monster like Clegane."

Corlen chuckled at that. "If I die, you won't have to bear it for much longer, little wolf." He tapped the end of her nose lightly. "Don't worry, Sansa. I will put an end to that wretched beast of a man, and I shall take you home once again." He made as if to step away, but she jerked him closer and stood upon the tips of her toes to plant a firm kiss upon his lips. They stood there for a long while, mouths locked. She thought he tasted of something vaguely like cinnamon. She was sure every person in the pavilion was watching them, but she didn't care. She knew she had wanted this for a long, long time. But then it was over, and he leaned over to whisper almost inaudibly, "If I **do** fall, you must promise me you will go with Lord Umber's men. They will ensure you get out of this place if they must fight to the last man."

She shook her head and said fiercely, "No! I won't leave you!"

Corlen gripped her by the shoulders and growled, "Promise me!"

Sansa sighed, but could not meet his eyes. "Very well. I promise."

He too sighed, though his was of relief. "Good. Now, if I'm not mistaken, you have an execution to watch me perform."

* * *

A short while later, she was standing between her two Kingsguard gaolers who were in turn surrounded by the Northmen. She was watching The Mountain ready himself. He was a virtual giant, 30 stone of muscle and nearly eight feet tall, and clad from head to toe in steel. Sansa had thought Corlen to be an enormous man, but he seemed a child beside Clegane. She prayed to any god that would listen that her champion might prevail. Somehow.

Before Lord Tywin announced the beginning of the duel, Joffrey swept up behind her and murmured in her ear, "Don't worry, wolf bitch. Your pet might have wounded me, but I'll still take your virtue. I might even let you live to service me in King's Landing. Would you like that?" He sniffed pointedly. "Of course, I suppose it's also possible you've already rutted with every dog between here and the Twins. Oh, well. Perhaps your head would look nice beside your father's." He departed just as quickly as he had come, and Sansa felt an unnatural rage swelling beneath her breast. _I can't believe I didn't just let him kill that bastard. _

But, Ser Kevan called for silence, and Lord Tywin spoke. "Lords and Ladies. We are gathered to witness in the sight of the gods the judgment of the guilt of Sansa Stark. She has been accused of the most heinous crimes of attempted regicide and high treason. Should her champion be victorious, she will have been declared innocent of these crimes. Elsewise, she will die."

The Mountain approached Corlen, and eyed him disdainfully. He was near a foot and a half shorter, and weighed at least five stone less. The Northman was still clad in his leather vest and breeches, but held a long handled poniard in addition to his axe. Clegane grunted, "Ready to die, traitorous cunt?"

Corlen replied, "Ready to watch you die, murderer."

Lord Tywin shouted, "Let the trial commence!"

The Mountain immediately rushed at Corlen, swinging a greatsword with one hand at him. It was a brutal slash, designed to maim a normal opponent. But, Corlen had decided that brute strength would not win this battle for him. Incredibly light on his feet, Corlen sprang forward, rolling into a ball and beyond Clegane's reach, placed in the man's blind spot created by his greathelm. Corlen drove the dagger into the unarmored flesh at the back of the knee, and was satisfied to hear a howl of enraged pain from Ser Gregor. Sansa's hands remained clenched like vice grips about her skirts, and she jumped at every swing from the Mountain. The gathered crowd was absolutely silent. Corlen leapt to his feet, and hammered his axe down upon the back of the Mountain's helm. The loud clang seemed to do nothing but snag his attention. He slashed behind him with a brutal back-handed attack that struck…nothing. Corlen danced about the Mountain as he made wild and hacking attacks for his far too quick foe. Once, when Clegane over-extended himself, Corlen jumped forward, slicing downwards upon his gauntleted hand with his war-axe and attempted to wrench the Mountain's sword away, only to find himself falling backwards as the other of those same hands struck him fully upon the chest. Clegane dove after him, seeking to press his advantage, but Corlen rolled out from underneath him and pinned him upon his face, knees driving Clegane's own into the ground. He wrenched out his dagger, still buried in Ser Gregor's knee, and drove it to the hilt into the other. He sprang backwards, and the Mountain pushed himself wearily to both feet, limping heavily.

That's when Sansa saw it. She knew Corlen would win, because he had decided he would win. A slow smile crept onto her face.

As the Mountain stepped to embattle Corlen again, long trails of blood trickled out of his clothing. Corlen, seeing this, waited for Clegane to strike. When he did, he lowered his shoulder and charged at him, throwing his weight into the Mountain's own over-extended mass. Ser Gregor slipped in the accumulating blood, causing him to crash on his back, Corlen atop him. He straddled Clegane's chest, and pushed back his visor. Corlen gripped the haft of his axe in one hand and with the other tried to hold the Mountain's head still. Meanwhile, the Mountain flailed huge, steel-plated hands about, striking him in the chest, stomach, and face. One particular punch snapped his nose with an audible crunch. But Corlen would have none of it. He hacked down into Clegane's exposed face and neck, brutally releasing his lifeblood's spray to mist upon his own face. He felt the life go out of Ser Gregor beneath him, and finally chopped through the neck of his opponent. Breathlessly, he pushed himself to his feet. Straightening slowly, Corlen lifted the Mountain's head by his hair and showed it to the assembled crowd. The Umbers went mad. They began hooting and shouting and smacking one another on the back, roaring of how the North had brought down the Mountain. Corlen took a step and hurled it into the audience to land at Lord Tywin's feet. This brought gales of laughter even from among the lords of West, of a Northman butchering the Lannisters' mad killer. Corlen focused his gaze upon Tywin. "My Lord? Is she not innocent?"

Tywin openly seethed. To be insulted in such a manner, and by a hedge knight…

Corlen called out, "Shall I kill another, then?" An even more intense wave of laughter from the spectators.

Ser Kevan, sensing his brother's rising fury, stood and proclaimed, "The gods have spoken. Lady Stark is innocent. Now go." Joffrey stood, as if to object, but a sharp look from his great-uncle got him to sit right back down.

Corlen, weary and blood-spattered, staggered over to where Sansa stood. He dropped to his knees, and she cupped his face in her hands. "Shall I escort you home, Highness?"

Sansa didn't answer. Inside, she felt like singing. A knight of honor had triumphed over one who was evil, and she knew he was hers.


	11. Chapter 10

**Yayy: **Yay! Well, I do hope you enjoy it.

**A/N:** Well, it's been an interesting three months with this story, and so, all I have to say is…uh…

Actually, I wanted to say that this story may be on hiatus for the next while, given the apparent popularity (by comparison to DoC) of Paying the Iron Price. That being said, if you haven't checked that out, you should!

-TFOTN

Chapter Ten

When Corlen and Sansa's party encountered an outrider from the Stark host a few hours after the trial.

They were traveling at a light canter along the Kingsroad with Sansa sitting in front of Corlen in the saddle, both atop his black warhorse Echo. Corlen would hardly say it aloud, but the feel of her rubbing against him with every step of Echo's hooves was quite…sensual. He was quite grateful for the distraction of the Hornwood horseman. At the sight of the Umber banner being flown above their party, the lone Northman took off for them a full gallop. He jerked the reins tightly before he was able to collide with anyone, and called out breathlessly, "I have news of the war! His Grace has reclaimed Riverrun from the Lannisters, and Ser Daven has joined his father in the grave!"

Sansa glanced back at Corlen, confused. He whispered, "His father, Ser Stafford, was a cousin to Ser Kevan. He was slain at Oxcross."

She nodded then in understanding. The Umber standard-bearer replied, "That is excellent news. And we bear tidings of our own. Her Highness has been recovered, and Ser Austriman here slew the Mountain in single combat."

With a sharp intake of breath and a curse, the Hornwood man's gaze jerked over to Corlen. "That is…that is truly an amazing feat, Ser. I confess, that I and any who may have doubted your prowess…" He shook his head. "The Mountain?!"

Corlen shrugged, and whispered in Sansa's ear, "I am rather incredible, aren't I?" He inquired with an air of false narcissism.

"It would not do to get _too _large of a head, Ser. Elsewise I fear we shall never fit a helm over it again."

Corlen nudged her in the ribs playfully, "Surely you wouldn't want to cover the face of a handsome man like me?"

She could only giggle in reply, before replying, "Oh, do be quiet. I think the men might begin to stare."

He settled back with a light snort of derision, and Sansa diverted her attention back to the messenger. "Goodman, thank you for your service. Know that His Grace is grateful."

With that, Corlen abruptly booted Echo forward, causing Sansa to bounce in the saddle before falling back against his chest, laughing helplessly.

* * *

When nightfall came, they were perhaps half a day's ride from Riverrun. The Umbers gathered in small camps of three, setting separate fires each so that their party might look larger and fiercer to any pursuer or bandit. Corlen and Sansa settled down in their midst, with him building a fourth fire just for the two of them. They bid one another a good night, and Sansa went to sleep upon his bedroll.

It was soon past midnight. He could hear the soft hooting of owls, and the occasional howl of a wolf. Once he thought he heard someone approaching through the brush, but, as it turned out, it was just a badger rooting through the leaves.

Corlen was seated upon a log, tending the dying embers of their fire when he heard Sansa stir. She was thrashing about in her sleep and sobbing, "Please! No, stop it! Don't-!" She jerked upright, awoken from whatever nightmare had plagued her rest. Corlen was at her side in a flash, kneeling in front of her.

He cupped her chin in two fingers, brought her eyes before asking softly, "Sansa? What is wrong?"

She shook her head. "N-Nothing. Just…bad dreams, is all. Of King's Landing."

He sighed, and placed his arms about her. The gods only knew what she had felt, watching her father die, and then beaten day after day by men who were supposed to be the most honorable in the realm…

As they sat there, wrapped about one another, Sansa stretched her neck to mumble softly in his ear, "Corlen. I…I love you."

Corlen knew he should step away. He knew that they would never be permitted to be together, but…he had to. He brought his hand to her face as he had wanted to so many times before, and gently brushed that lovely, flaming hair away from her alabaster cheek. "And I you. If anything is possible in this life, dearest, then I shall wed you, if that is your wish."

"It is."

He kissed her, his lips gingerly meeting hers. For a short while, it seemed that the entire world simply fell away and there was only her. He wanted more. But he could not dishonor her, not after all he had done to keep her safe, and all that she had been through. He pulled away, ignoring her sleepy protest, and rolled onto his side. His hands were drawn up about her, and she in turn twined her fingers through his. Soon, both were taken by slumber, and Corlen lay there with Sansa entangled in his arms.

* * *

The next morning, Corlen awoke to find Sansa already up and about. He sighed and went off to find a suitable growth to change into relatively clean attire behind. When he returned, he found that Sansa could hardly look at or speak to him without blushing so furiously he feared she might burst into flames. When he broached the subject with her, she merely turned a deeper shade of crimson and denied doing so altogether.

After a brief meal, the party set out just after dawn. Judging by some of the gestures made of the Umbers in the forefront of their little group, they seemed to be making all manner of bawdy jests. Those closer to Corlen and Sansa seemed to find it prudent to comment only on the future of the war, and where it would be likely the Lannisters would strike next, while those behind simply remained silent or kept the conversation to among themselves. Admittedly, Corlen was rather grateful. He was not by any means a talkative man, and this allowed him ample time to think about how he would ever work up the courage to demand Sansa's hand from King Robb. After all, he was only a hedge knight in the eyes of the Crown at the moment, and would be a very, very minor lord in only the most generous of lights – if, that was, if Hearthglow's foundations even remained and Lord Wyman had not put the matter from his mind altogether. He doubted Sansa's brother would grant so grand a request on a whim, even to the man who had slain such a notorious enemy of the realm. _The Riverlords might be a little more pleased, though. They __**really **__hated Clegane. _Corlen knew this to be true. Clegane had helped spark the events which had led to the Northmen crossing from Moat Caillin in the first place, once they had heard of his depraved rape of even the smallest of children. Perhaps there was a chance.

Or perhaps not. Corlen knew that, were he Robb Stark, he would not give away a powerful political tool like Sansa so easily. While she was family, her marriage could earn him a powerful ally. _Still, _he thought, _I promised her._ And Corlen wanted this too.

Lost in thought, Corlen jumped when Sansa poked him in the side. With a bit of a smirk, she murmured, "If that made you jump so, I wonder how far you would fly if I touched your…"

Corlen cleared his throat, "Was there a reason you tried to scare me half out of my mind?"

Sansa laughed softly at that, a warm, throaty sound that made his breath catch. "You, Ser, frightened by a little girl? Well, if you must know, we have arrived. In case you missed that very large castle in front of you."

_Oh._ And it seemed they had indeed arrived. Echo had borne him almost to the gates before he'd realized this. "It seems I've had to do this a lot."

Sansa giggled before blushing prettily. "Only this time it'll be a little less of a surprise."

Again, it appeared Sansa had the right way of it. A long column of horsemen rode out of the gates towards them, bearing the banners of nearly every house in the North and the Riverlands, with the direwolf streaming above them all. Corlen, Sansa, and the men from House Umber waited as Robb and his bannermen approached.

Leaping down from his saddle, Robb Stark ran to his sister. Corlen had dismounted as well, and gave her his hand as she stepped down gracefully. Sansa flashed a quick smile at Corlen before she was swept up in a great hug by her brother. Just as quickly, he stepped back and looked ready to burst with anger. "If you ever damn well THINK about doing something so foolish ever again, I'll bloody well…" He trailed off, struggling to find the words. "I don't know, but it'll be so damned unpleasant you'll WISH you'd been captured again!"

Sansa accepted this demurely, before taking Robb's hand and saying quite clearly, "Your Grace. Ser Corlen has rendered yet another service to the Crown. Lord Tywin sought to pass judgment upon me for Joffrey Waters' maiming, and would have sentenced me to death had not Ser Corlen interceded on my behalf, and demanded a trial by combat."

Corlen nodded briefly. "Aye. And it was my singular honor, Your Highness."

Sansa turned a beaming smile upon him, but Robb frowned. "And so you won, I take it?"

Corlen tilted his head forward just slightly. "Aye. I did, Your Grace."

Sansa sighed in exaggerated exasperation. "Ser. You diminish your own part in this." She turned to the Umber standard-bearer. "Goodman, you saw the duel, did you not?"

The Umber man bowed low, so low that his huge beard nearly touched the ground. "Aye, Yer 'Ighness."

Sansa's lips quirked, as though she were repressing her amusement. "And who represented Joffrey in the matter?"

The man-at-arms murmured with a sound ringing of respect in his voice, "The Mountain That Rides, Yer 'Ighness. Pardon me. The Mountain That _Rode."_

Sansa thanked him quietly, and turned back to face Robb and the gathered lords. "Ser Corlen, in my defense, claimed Ser Gregor Clegane's head."

This brought a general murmur of approval from the Northmen. The Greatjon stepped forward to clap Corlen upon the back and grip and equally enormous hand. The Riverlords, on the other hand, were a little more vocal with their pleasure. Jason Mallister jestingly inquired why ser Corlen had stopped with the Mountain, and not finished the Kingslayer to boot.

All the while, Robb had remained silent and simply watched Corlen with an unreadable look in his eyes. Finally, Robb stepped forward and said, "Ser Corlen. You have, for the second time, rescued the heir to my throne and the only other living Stark. More than that, though, the realm is indebted to you. You have brought the criminal, Gregor Clegane, a rapist, murderer, and brigand, justice." More satisfied grins from the Riverlords. "I would grant you whatever reward you desire for your deeds."

This was it. It would be now, or never. Robb would not be able to refuse in front of his bannermen, surely—

Sansa jumped in as soon as Corlen opened his mouth, "Your Grace. I know Ser Corlen is weary from travel, and has sustained a number of injuries. Perhaps it would be best should he retire and you discuss it then?"

Corlen shot her a confused look, but Sansa nodded encouragingly, so he simply nodded and said, "Aye, Your Grace."

Robb blinked, and looked between the two of them. He plainly didn't like something he saw, but sighed and turned to his horse. "Come, then."

* * *

He was now sitting in a rather pleasantly upholstered chair, with a goblet of Arbor gold in his hand. _Like a Southron lordling, _thought Corlen. Across from him sat his king, Robb Stark, and between them was his little Princess, his love, Sansa. She had smiled at him encouragingly and told him to let her do all the talking before they'd followed Robb into the royal apartments. Corlen let his gaze wander as the Stark siblings spoke of inconsequential things. He could see a number of lengths of parchment spread out on a writing table. He had heard a maid gossiping about how the Queen would not return for another day or so. Ser Brynden the Blackfish had apparently made off with little Jeyne Westerling and bolted for a nearby holdfast fiercely loyal to House Tully and still held by Rivermen. Judging by the number of letters he had laid out across it, the Young Wolf loved his considerably lower-born wife immensely. He thought about reaching for the decanter and pouring himself a bit more wine when Robb spoke up. "Ser Corlen. You have not informed me of your decision. What is it you desire? Land? A title?"

Corlen glanced over at Sansa, who rose and strode over to his chair to stand at his side. "Robb. I want your blessing."

Robb's eyes widened in alarm. "Blessing for what?" He asked cautiously.

Sansa fixed him with a glare that said he was an idiot before answering, "I want to marry him, Robb."

At first, Robb wasn't sure how to react. He wanted to scream and jump and shout about how she had no right to request such a thing, or that he was simply too low born, but, as he looked over at his writing table, covered with correspondences with Jeyne…he couldn't He was the one with no right to that. And so, he leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands, before murmuring, "Gods! I certainly had not expected…well, THAT." He brought his head up once more, to look at the pair of them. "Of course, I suppose I should have. After all, the two of you seem to fit one another quite well." He chuckled, "Though, this does throw quite the boulder into the clockwork of my plans."

Sansa frowned. "What plans? Plans to marry me off for swords?"

Robb shrugged, "Not really, but…It might as well have been. You see, I've received word that Aegon Targaryen is alive, and arrived with the Golden Company not five days past. They've taken Storm's End, and are preparing to lay siege to King's Landing."

Corlen coughed. That was a surprise.

Sansa placed her fists on her hips. "So I was to, what? Be your envoy? Take him into my bed, and an alliance with it?"

Robb waved his hands in front of him. "You misunderstand me, sister. I would never ask you to dishonor yourself or your betrothed like that."

Sansa frowned at that, her face scrunched up in confusion, "Dishonor me and my who?"

Robb nearly kept a straight face, but in the end he broke into laughter, "Well, surely you were serious about marrying this great buffoon of yours, here?"

Sansa threw her arms about Robb's neck, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek. "Oh, Robb!"

Corlen wasn't quite sure how to react, so he stood up and poured himself another cup of wine. He inhaled deeply before tossing the entire thing back. He felt two little arms wrap about his waist and a face press between his shoulder blades. "Well, Corlen? Do you have anything to say to that?"

He chuckled, before spinning about to face the pair of them. He dropped to his knee, took her hands in his and murmured. "Highness. Sansa. My love. I have naught to offer you save a horse, a sword, and myself. But, they are yours. Would you make me the happiest man in Westeros, and be my wife?"

Tears crept forth from the corner of one deep blue eye, and she shut them before saying, "Yes, Corlen! Oh yes!"

Robb stood apart from them with a little smile on his face and said, "Well now. I'll leave you two for a short while. I shall expect to see you at my table for supper that I might make your betrothal known." He paused to press a kiss to the top of Sansa's head, and grasped Corlen's hand and gave it a brisk shake, before hurriedly making for the door.

When it had shut behind him, Sansa turned her gaze upon him, a very, very sultry look. He cleared his throat. "Ah, Sansa…I…"

"Whatever is the matter, my Lord? Perhaps…more wine?" She swayed past him, and casually poured the large decanter into another smaller cup. She took a little sip, and offered it to Corlen. He shook his head, and went to sit upon his rather opulent bed, one that appeared fit for three or four rather than one. Tugging off his boots, he let out a sigh of relief, and lay back upon the silken bed sheets.

He felt the down-stuffed mattress compress to his left and grinned as Sansa found her way into the circle of his arm. She pouted, tracing little patterns on his chest through his clean doublet. She was trying to get him to…_what?_ He wasn't quite sure. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to act. _I'm marrying the girl I love, who's beautiful, and brave, and kind, and much higher-born than I am. How in the seven hells am I supposed to feel?_

Sansa rolled atop him and stated rather matter-of-factly, "Ser. You smell. Clearly, you have not bathed."

He sighed. "Aye. That is true. You insisted I join you here immediately, after all."

His betrothed eyed him speculatively. "I suppose I did. However, we should remedy this immediately. I'll call for a servant to fill the bath with hot water, and you will bathe," Sansa said pointedly.

Corlen couldn't help but laugh and murmured in a facetious tone, "Yes, mother."

* * *

Sometime later, Corlen found himself with a woolen towel wrapped about his waist, one foot dipping into a piping hot pool, and a girl watching him like a hawk. It seemed he was trusted not to cut himself or others with his sword, but to be entrusted with cleaning himself was out of the question.

As he stepped into the water at what he thought was a comfortable temperature, Sansa said chidingly, "Dearest, I do believe that the point of the towel is for _after _you bathe." He turned to face her, and she held her hand out expectantly. "Give it here."

Corlen looked down at the clear bath water beneath him, and his own distinct lack of other covering, and turned back around. He dropped the towel and tossed it behind himself. He heard it smack into something_, _so he slid down under the water, leaving just his chest above the waterline.

He felt hands rubbing his shoulders, little fingers working over the broad, hard, thick flesh. Corlen leaned back into them, and he looked up to see Sansa smiling down at him. He chuckled before settling himself, and his eyes began to droop down ever so slowly…

When he awoke, he thought he was outside, given that all he could see was blue. Then, he realized he was staring into his betrothed's eyes again. That was odd. He was still in the bath. It took him a moment to recognize that she was sitting in the water with him. She smiled at him, and stood up, water dripping from her naked form. Her firm, perky breasts glistened pleasantly, and liquid trailed down her pale, soft midsection, and Corlen found his gaze drawn to the fork of her legs. There was a narrow strip of a slightly darker red hair leading to her nether lips. His eyes went wide at the sight, and as he stared his cock stiffened immediately.

"I…erm…Sansa?" Corlen stammered. "W-what are you doing?"

Sansa tilted her head to the side, and fixed him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Why, whatever do you mean? I simply found myself in need of a bath as well…"

He cleared his throat, "I'm not sure this is entirely proper." A blush entered his cheeks, and he would have laughed were he not so mortified. _A man grown and still blushing like a boy!_

She pursed her lips as if pouting. She turned around with a huff, and daintily stepped out of the bath, but not before wiggling her tight yet supple backside at him. He groaned and cradled his head in his hands. _Gods. We need to say the words. And soon._

When he looked back up, Sansa was standing there with a woolen bathrobe clinging to still wet skin. "Well? Are you coming out?"

Corlen grinned up at her. "Aye, Your Highness. But, I will need my towel."

Sansa raised an eyebrow, before winking devilishly. "Why, Ser, I do believe it is right over there." She indicated a folded cloth resting upon a small chair in the next room. "I'm certain you can retrieve it."

He nodded, before turning his back to her and awkwardly rising out of the water. Dripping wet, he hurriedly backed into the room, and shut the door behind him, only to hear Sansa burst out in laughter from behind the aged wood. _Seven hells, _Corlen though. _She really will be the death of me. Maybe her brother would be amenable to holding the ceremony before we next meet the Lannisters in battle. _With this in mind, he set off to find himself some proper clothing.

When he returned, dressed in a fine teal doublet and white breeches, he found his betrothed waiting for him. Sansa was wearing a dress of a grey silk, white direwolves embroided around the sleeves, hem, and neckline, which was quite generously cut. Corrlen bowed smoothly as he saw her, and proffered his arm, which she took with a smile.

"You Highness," said he with a mockingly solemn tone. "It looks to be a lovely evening, does it not?"

Sansa replied, dropping her eyes demurely. "Why, Ser, it certainly does." She gazed up at him then through fluttering eyelashes.

At that Corlen cleared his throat. "Might I escort you to your brother's table?"

She nodded. "I should like nothing else."

* * *

Perhaps an hour later, Robb stood and called for silence. The men were in good spirits. There was plenty of food, plenty of wine, and they had won yet another victory. Corlen had received innumerable slaps on the back and demands for the tale of how he had slain the Mountain. He, in turn, unabashedly obliged, though he could not keep his attention from Sansa for long. And so, he sat among the masses of various landed and unlanded knights as he waited for Robb to announce their betrothal. And he was not disappointed.

As Robb stood he called out, "My friends. Tonight we are gathered to celebrate yet another glorious victory for the men of the North and the Trident. Tonight, Ser Corlen Austriman's sword runs red with the Mountain's blood!" This was answered with uproariously applause and bellowed shout of approval. "Tywin Lannister's murderer is no more. It is only a shame Ser Corlen did not think to take his head, as well." The assembled lords laughed at that, but Robb waved for quiet. "However, I believe it is only fitting that a man should receive a great reward for such a great deed. And, now that I have extended this offer, Ser Corlen has asked a boon of me, one of which I was at first highly skeptical. But, I believe that this will ultimately be for the better. Ser Corlen, come forward."

Corlen rose along with a speculative murmur from the assembled Northmen. The general hum of conversation seemed to conclude that he would surely demand a lordship this time around. As he reached the high table, Robb flashed him a quick, boyish grin. Corlen couldn't help but respond in kind. Then, the King in the North turned to his sister. "As you all know, my lords, Edmure Tully, my uncle and the previous Lord of Riverrun, is dead. He has left behind him no heirs apparent save for the Princess Sansa and I. However, as Lord of Winterfell, I will not hold two seats. And so, I cede my claim to Riverrun to my sister."

Though none of the Riverlords seemed pleased to have a girl as their liege-lady, they determined that it would be for the best. And none _really _expected a girl to rule them. After all…

Robb continued, "The Princess is young, yet, but I am sure that she will govern the Riverlands effectively. However, she shall need a guardian – a man who will rule beside her, and will provide the people of the Trident with an heir to Riverrun."

At this, Sansa blushed and seemed to be unable to look Corlen in the eye. At least, not in front of so many. Robb, oblivious to her discomfort, cleared his throat and began to speak once more. "I have been approached with a request for Her Highness' hand, and I will be more than happy to see her depart from her house and take up the name of Tully." He beckoned for her to come closer. Sansa did, and he took her hand. "My lords. I would like to introduce my sister's betrothed, and the future Lord of Riverrun: Ser Corlen Austriman."

Ser Wendel Manderly was the only one who immediately responded. The man with the walrus mustache and the distinctive lineage of Lord Lamprey began clapping loudly, only to subside when he realized no one was joining with him. Corlen became physically uncomfortable standing up there upon the dais, with every eye in the hall fixed upon him. Most notably was Roose Bolton's gaze which seemed to positively radiate an aura which could cause fear. Lord Glover seemed rather indifferent one way or the other, but Lord Rickard Karstark seemed livid. Corlen had heard that the Kingslayer had killed his younger sons Eddard and Torrhen in the Whispering Wood, and had demanded his head in recompense. Robb had refused, and now the Lion of Lannister was loose once more. Finally, the Greatjon broke the silence when he stepped up to take Corlen in a rough bear hug. Laughing, he clapped the White Harbor man upon the back before he took Sansa's hand in a surprisingly delicate grip and pressed his lips to her dainty hand. Lord Umber then bent forward to whisper something in her ear, which made her blush to the roots of her hair and stare down at her feet. He then turned back to the hall and roared, "Oi! Someone fetch a damned wineskin for this man! And let it be a lesson to the lot of you: kill a Lannister, get a girl and a castle! Ha!"

This drew the Northmen from their apparent stasis, and the majority began to joke and laugh about the luck of the man. Even Roose Bolton cracked what might be mistaken for a smile in poorer lighting. In fact, virtually every Riverlord seemed pleased at the prospect. Jason Mallister caught Corlen's eye and grinned. The only displeased face in the hall, it seemed to Corlen, was that of Lord Karstark. His eyes were filled with loathing as he moved his glare from Robb to Corlen and back again. Soon, he threw up his hands and departed the hall altogether. But, that wasn't the time for such concerns. He turned back to the dais, and strode over to take Sansa's hand and lead her into the center of the room. He bent down to inquire in her ear, "Would you honor me with a dance?"

Sansa giggled, but instead of answering, she pressed her soft lips against his, claiming from him another kiss, much to the amusement of the other men in the room, who began hooting and cat-calling until Sansa pulled away, a light blush and bright smile on her face. "Why, Ser, of course I would."

Corlen grinned at that, and waved for the musicians to take up their instruments. When he turned back to his betrothed, a song that might be heard in any court south of the Neck began to play, a slow and elegant piece. As they entered a gentle waltz, it seemed Corlen was quite an adept dancer as well, light upon his feet and graceful in his movements. Sansa found that she simply could not stop smiling as he twirled her about the floor.

After an hour or so of pure joy as far as Sansa was concerned, Robb stood from where he sat and called for the music to cease. He said, "Sister. Come and take your place as Lady of Riverrun, and of the Trident."

Corlen smiled at her encouragingly, a smile which she returned briefly only to mount the dais and curtsy to her brother the king before sitting herself gingerly upon the great wooden throne upon which every Tully since Riverrun's construction had sat. A great cheer broke out amongst the Riverlords, who then approached her to kneel and swear themselves to her service and that of House Tully anew. Sansa, desperate to escape the attention, tried to meet Corlen's eyes. He was standing near the foot of the dais, with those enormously thick arms of his folded across his chest. When she caught his eye, he winked mischievously at her, and then inclined his head so as to gesture towards her new vassals, as if to say that she should worry about them, not he. Sansa shook her head in exasperation, and resolved to ignore him for the rest of the night. Or, sneak glances at him when he wasn't looking. Well, she wouldn't make eye contact, anyway.

* * *

The next morning, Sansa awoke to a maidservant vigorously poking her shoulder. "My Lady?"

Sansa growled, "Gods! What is it?"

The maid replied, "My most sincere of apologies, my Lady, but His Grace, his lords bannermen, your betrothed, and the armies are marching this very morning."

Sansa leapt out of her bed, seizing the woman by her shoulders, "And you just now tell me this?!" She scrambled about for something to cover herself, and quickly tugged on a heavy bathrobe before bolting out of her room pursued by her servant's scandalized protests.

When she reached the courtyard, Sansa was gasping for breath with heaving lungs, but she ceased when she saw him seated there atop Echo, that beautiful midnight-black steed. Corlen caught her eye, slipped from his saddle, and took her into his arms. He held her there, running gauntleted hands through that enticing auburn hair. Murmuring into her ear, he consoled her. "Not to worry, sweetling. We'll be gone a fortnight at the most. All we've to do is defeat the old lion himself and there'll be naught left to do in this war."

She sniffled miserably, "Yes, but what if..?"

Corlen cut her off. "I will make a pledge to you, love. Your brother and I will return. I'll see to it." He grinned sudddenly. "If the Mountain hardly gave me pause, what are a few thousand scared boys?"

Sansa slapped at his shoulder ineffectually. "Be careful."

"Never." He leaned forward to place a hot kiss upon her lips, filled with passionate intensity. "I shan't be long, mi'Lady."

Abruptly, he spun away and leapt up onto Echo's back. He blew Sansa a parting kiss, and jerked on the reins. Corlen joind Robb and the other lords bannermen as they trotted through the gates of Riverrun.

And just like that, Sansa was alone.


End file.
